How I Cracked Your Fanfic
by ADozenWerds
Summary: Where do the nations' cars keep going? How does everyone keep summoning things from head-sparkles to Tokaji wine to the Grecian Army? And what is this "Yaoi Army" you speak of? Well, welcome to "How I Cracked Your Fanfic"!
1. Hungary's Lesson on UST

**A/N: Ta-da! Those of you who're reading _America's What?_ (or the summary) probably have some idea of how this is going to turn out, as in the chapters will probably be tied together by a loose/vague/possibly-nonexistent plot, though can still be kind of read as one-shots, if you'd like. However, unlike _America's What?_ , this fic probably won't be as America-centered, though America will still be in it—**

 **America: *swings through window* "Because that's what the Hero is for, dudes!"**

 **Me: "Hey! You're going to be the one cleaning that shattered glass!"**

 **America: *starts picking up glass* "Sure thing, bro!"**

 **Britain: "Not with your bare hands, you twat!"**

 **—And of course, there will also likely be a _lot_ of ship tease.**

 **Summary: Where do the nations' cars keep going? How does everyone keep summoning things from head-sparkles to Tokaji wine to the Grecian Army? And what is this "Yaoi Army" you speak of? Well, welcome to "How I Cracked Your Fanfic"!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Hungary's Lesson on UST**

* * *

Romano was muy, muy furioso, as Spain would dub it—he'd caught his brother spoon-feeding that potato bastard; the other potato bastard had tried to serenade him with a broom solo while he was in the process of storming out the door; Switzerland had chased him with a gun after he'd snapped at Liechtenstein, which only worsened his foul mood, and to top it all off, Spain, the bastard, had spent twenty minutes trying to cast a cheer-up charm on him. So, Romano simply did the most sensible thing a nation could do in such situations:

He "borrowed" Spain's car and took it on a joyride to the nearest bar. It was a perfectly logical course of action, dammit!

". . . and that's how I wound up here," Romano sighed, concluding his explanation and taking a long sip of his drink.

"Aw, that sounds tough," Hungary said from behind the bar. Pulling out a bottle from—Wait, that definitely wasn't there before! What in the . . . ? "Would you like another round? Usually, I would charge you money for the second bottle of Tokaji wine, but in the good name of the Yaoi Army, this one's on the house."

Romano's eyes widened, spitting out the liquid. _She_ definitely hadn't been behind the bar earlier! " _W-wait, what happened to the bartender, you pervert_?"

"Oh, him?" she shrugged. "He's kind of occupied at the moment."

* * *

"Ugh . . . where am I?" the bartender wondered. The last thing he could remember was something metal colliding with his head.

"My apologies, sir," Japan bowed slightly. "You will be returned to the bar later, but you'll have to stay here for awhile . . . for the greater good, of course. We have a duty to fulfill."

"Hmm, alright then," the bartender agreed, and promptly lost consciousness again—this time with snoring. Japan blinked.

". . . Well, that was easier than I thought."

* * *

"Anyway, there is a reasonable explanation why you feel like this," Hungary continued.

"I already told you, it's because they're all bastards," Romano deadpanned, picking up his drink again. "And why do you care? I don't need a damn therapist!"

"I care because you are obviously suffering from a severe case of UST. More wine?"

Romano gagged on his drink but didn't spit it out this time, launching into a coughing fit as Hungary smiled innocently. When he calmed down enough to speak, he asked, "What is wrong with you? No talking when I'm trying to get a drink down!"

"Oh, but it's nothing to be ashamed of! I mean, just look at Britain," she prattled on, gesturing toward the other end of the bar where the drunken nation was ranting to a completely sober America. "Even France agrees that he and America have been accumulating it for what, at least two hundred years now? And everyone knows that he and France have been at it for much longer. Actually, he's been accumulating it with just about everyone out there . . . . You don't want to end up like him, do you?"

"Hey, what's so bad about me, mate?" Britain asked indignantly, noticing their conversation. "I'm the United Bloody Kingdom, and I can hold my liquor better than any of you, and if—"

"Yes, yes, we understand. But while you're drunk, Britain, I have a question for you," Hungary interrupted, a devious glint in her eyes. "Exactly _how_ much UST would you say you have with America?"

"Whoa, not cool, man!" America protested.

"Shut up!" Britain said. "I felt bad about how the bloody frog was treating you, so I—"

America suddenly grabbed Britain by the arm before he could go on yet another intoxicated monologue—he'd lost track of the many monologues Britain had already given that evening—and started dragging him out of the bar, saying, "Alright, bro, I think it's about time we got out of here, okay man?"

In response, Britain let out a fairly impressive string of curses.

Shrugging, America explained to Romano and Hungary as he led Britain out the door, "Dude can party."

After the two of them left the building, attracting many stares along the way, Romano sat at the bar in dumbfounded silence, more confused than ever.

"Well, that was abrupt," Hungary finally remarked. Perking up, she continued, "So, Romano, the point of this lesson has been to show you what UST may lead to. As you may have observed with Britain, things may sometimes escalate very—"

"If I drive back to Spain's house now, will you agree to shut the hell up?" Romano snapped.

"Only if you make up with him," Hungary replied. _"Or make_ out _with him . . ."_ her yaoi-obsessed mind supplied.

"Fine, fine," he sighed, standing up to leave. "Just . . . let's never speak of this again."

"I can't promise you that!" she chirped as he walked out the door.

Eventually, Japan peeked around the corner. "Have they left yet, Hungary-san?"

"Yes, Japan," she confirmed.

"Good."

He then proceeded to pull the sleeping bartender back out, placing him against the wall before the two nations made a quick getaway to an undisclosed location, where they put the footage they'd captured of that night's events on loop.

The next morning, Britain woke up with an awful hangover and America, of course, attempted to cure it with his amazing burger medicine while France stood by making smug comments. As for Spain's car . . .

"Romano, you're alive!" Spain grinned gleefully. "Oh, I was so worried about you! You didn't get into any trouble, did you?"

"Seriously?" said Romano, gesturing at the smoldering wreckage behind him. "I just took your car and crashed it into your front porch, and _that's_ how you greet me, you bastard?"

Spain tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, how else would I greet you?"

". . . Good point."

* * *

 _ **The Fangirl Code,**_ **#1:** **If entering a bar/pub/tavern/ _ANYWHERE_ that serves alcoholic beverages, a Fangirl will always bring more than one camera.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Not much to say here! But as you might have guessed, the title and the Fangirl Code are sort of parodies of _How I Met Your Mother._ Yeah.**

 **In my headcanon, the Awesome Trio and possibly Bad Touch Trio try to abide by the Bro Code, and since the Yaoi Army might want to have some sort of rules as well . . . voila! The Fangirl Code. But this fic won't be entirely centered around the Yaoi Army, either—**

 **Prussia: "Because they totally freak me out, which is totally unawes—"**

 **Hungary: *polishes frying pan* "Hmm?"**

 **Prussia: *rapidly backpedals* "Ah! Nein, it's nothing. Nothing at all!"**

 **Me: "Alright then . . . though the Yaoi Army will likely be making various appearances throughout this fic either way."**

 **Prussia: " _WHAT_?"**

 **Me: "You heard me. I already went over this with you, dude—the chapters of this fic will focus on a variety of nations!"**

 **Prussia: "Well, ja, but . . ."**

 **Oh, and look out for Chapter 3, which will fulfill a request Guest reviewer RainbowRose17 left on _America's What?_ that has to do with one of the instructions in _The Beginner's Guide to Relationships: for the Hard Hearted German_ (from "America's Writing Skills", Chapter 12 of _America's What?_ ). Just giving you guys a heads-up for that! Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**

 **And here's a hint about the nation the next chapter focuses a bit on: Comrades?**

 **Prussia, the outro, please!**

 **Prussia: "Fine, but are you really sure having the Yaoi Army here is a good idea? I mean, Hungary's kind of freaking out right now . . . . Wait, but I'm too awesome to be freaked out!**

 **Me: "You going to do the outro yet?"**

 **Prussia: "Ja! Stay awesome!"**


	2. Russia's Search for Unsuspecting Nations

**A/N: Chapter 2 is up, WOOT! Anyway, a quick note relating to the previous chapter before we get on with this one.**

 **"UST": An acronym for "Unresolved Sexual Tension". Yep.**

 **Also, I'm so excited by the positive reception of this fic. You guys are amazing!** **Oh, right, the chapter—it's kind of on the shorter side of things, but I hope you enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Russia's Search for Unsuspecting Nations**

* * *

"Mr. Russia, what are you doing?" Lithuania asked, glancing down in concern at the nation seated on the park bench. "You've been sitting here for hours already. Your lunch is going to get cold."

"I am looking for friends, comrade, who might later want to become one," Russia replied casually. "Lunch can wait, da?"

"Yes, of course," Estonia assured him, strolling off. "I will go take care of it."

"Oh, he escaped," said Latvia, watching as Estonia disappeared in the distance. "Do you think we could go help him, too, Mr. Russia?"

Normally, Russia would disapprove of this, but currently he was on a search, so he simply said, "Da."

Marveling at their luck, Latvia and Lithuania hastily took off after Estonia.

Russia, on the other hand, continued to sit in silence. However, seeing his cat plop down between the Italy Cats, he sighed. "Even my cat seems to be getting along more than me . . ."

Shortly afterward, though, Belarus Cat popped out from behind the bench and scared all three other felines away.

". . . You know what? Never mind."

* * *

America flung open the door as soon as he heard it ring, gushing, "Awesome, dude! Now we can finally start that video game mara—Wait, you're not Japan."

"Hello to you as well, comrade," Russia smiled. "You see, I came here to ask for—"

"What did you do to my bro, dude?" the younger nation panicked, looking around wildly. "You didn't kidnap him for one of your twisted plots, did you? Because if you did, that's so not cool and I'm going to have to—"

"Japan will arrive later, I am sure," Russia interrupted flatly. "But while I'm here, I would like your help on something, da?"

"Uh, no. I'm just going to wait for Japan," America replied, starting to close the door. However, apparently Russia wasn't going to take that as an answer.

"Allow me to rephrase my question," said Russia, an ominous purple aura growing around him. "You will help me, comrade, because you have no other choice. Da?"

When America didn't respond immediately, Russia's scarf shot up and began to wrap around his neck.

Flailing, America exclaimed, " _AH_! Cut it out, man— _ACK_ —fine, fine, I'll do it, just set me down already!"

Abruptly dropping the other nation and reverting to his usual innocent smile, Russia said, "Thank you, friend! So, are you ready for my question?"

"Yeah, sure, dude, just get it over with already," said America, rubbing at his neck.

"How do you get people to like you?"

"Oh, well everyone knows that the way to a bro's heart is through their stomach," America grinned, "So I give them the gift of fast food restaurants, dude, and _presto_!"

"Instant comrades?" Russia asked hopefully.

"Nope," America replied. Summoning head-sparkles, he declared, "Instant international American fast food chain restaurants!"

Russia paused for a moment. Then he abruptly slammed the door in the unsuspecting nation's face.

Sighing as he finally went to go have his dinner, he said, "I think I will try again tomorrow."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #2: A true Fangirl will never slam the door on someone who is shipped with three or more people. Unless they are in a "squee" fit, in which case it is perfectly acceptable.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Hungary: "The path of boys' love is rarely an easy one . . ."**

 **Me: "Hey, when did you get here?"**

 **Hungary: "Hmm? Oh, don't mind me."**

 **. . . That doesn't really answer my question, but okay then!** **Yeah, international American fast food chain restaurants are, well . . . all over the place. ^J^**

 **Not much to stay here, but stay tuned for RainbowRose17's request, which will be coming up in the next chapter! You can probably find out what the request is by looking through the reviews on _America's What?_ , but for those of you who want to guess, I'll drop a hint here, too, on what the chapter's about.**

 **Hint: Crazy-town.**

 **(It took me so long just to come up with that hint. Huh.)**

 **Prussia: *pops in* "Stay awesome!"**


	3. Prussia's AdvICE

**A/N: Yeah, this chapter's going to be punnier than usual. ^J^**

 **Also, it's the fulfilling of a request left on "America's Proposal Guidance" (Chapter 17) of _America's What?_ by Guest reviewer RainbowRose17, so I'm pretty excited! It also has references to both Hetalia canon and to _America's What?_ , as well as several cases of ship tease because, well . . .**

 **Japan: *deadpan* "You were warned."**

 **If there are any more requests, feel free to put them in the reviews, and I'll see what I can do—though if it's more America-centered, it might wind up being fulfilled in _America's What?_ instead, though I'll inform you if that's the case. ****But don't worry, there will still probably be at least one or two updates per week for this fic even without requests, so it's all good! ^J^ And keep up the usual reviews, too, since you guys make my day!**

 **Notes are at the bottom. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Prussia's AdvICE: Requested by Guest reviewer RainbowRose17**

* * *

Prussia cackled to himself as he strode into the park, seating himself on what he deemed a suitably-awesome bench. Just earlier, he'd awesomely found a modestly-sized bookstore that Austria, the prissy pansy, usually went to for books on—wait for it— _relationship advice_. It wasn't stalking, it was just part of the awesome path to adding some more awesomeness into Austria's day. Yeah, let's stick with that.

And for Prussia, at least, this information he'd acquired could be used to his advantage. After all, it could make for some pretty great blackmail, if nothing else.

"Another awesome job by the awesome me," he smirked, leaning back into the bench in satisfaction with Gilbird landing in his hair. However, he paused, frowning, when he noticed who else was at the park. "Hey, what's that crazy-face doing here?"

Sure enough, Russia was strolling through the park with the Baltics following not far behind. He seemed to be saying something, so Prussia, being, well, _awesome_ , decided to listen closer. "Come out, come out, Russia Cat, wherever you are. I know you're still here, comrade! We wouldn't want to miss dinner, da?"

"He's creepy even when he's talking to his cat," Prussia sweatdropped, noticing the other nation's dark aura. Petting Gilbird, he added, "That's pretty freaky."

"Maybe he's back at the house," Lithuania suggested.

"No, he would not leave without me," Russia assured him, adjusting his scarf. "Now, come here, Russia Cat . . . I know you're hiding, kolkolkol . . ."

"I'm not sure if that would be the best way to lure a cat," Estonia commented.

"Hmm?" Russia asked, turning toward him.

Oblivious, Latvia added, "Yeah, it would be like America trying to— _MNAGHNEN_!"

Having learned from previous experiences, Estonia and Lithuania had been quick to clamp their hands over their companion's mouth, Estonia reminding Latvia not to mention the boisterous nation while Lithuania assured Russia, "Ha, it was just a joke! Latvia, always making the funnies, yes?"

"Da," said Russia absentmindedly, still intent on finding his cat. The Baltics let out a sigh of relief. "Come, let's keep looking."

Suddenly, there was a rustle in the bushes. Prussia straightened on his bench as the quartet turned.

"Russia Cat, is that you . . . ?"

And immediately, a figure that was definitely _not_ Russia Cat sprang out and ambushed the tall nation. Get it? Am _BUSH_ ed? . . . Let's just continue.

"Big Brother, I have returned once again!" Belarus exclaimed as Russia yelped in surprise. "Are you ready to become one?"

"No, I think I will pass," Russia said sheepishly.

"Nonsense," Belarus replied, pulling something else out of the plants behind h— _HOW_ did she fit that thing in just _one bush_? "I even made you this ice sculpture of your thumb to show how much I adore you! It's an enlarged model that I based off a fingerprint I collected from you when you were drinking vodka earlier. Don't you just love it? . . . Wait, where'd you go?"

Apparently, while she was getting out the ice sculpture, Russia had seized his chance to flee. As for the Baltics . . . well, they decided to take five and had struck up a conversation nearby.

"Don't worry, I'll find you," she said, and dashed off again to locate her brother.

Prussia shuddered. _Maybe it runs in the family?_ Then an idea occurred to him.

"An ice sculpture of your love interest's thumb . . ." he muttered to himself. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number and said, "Yeah, Denmark? I think I have a new idea for the _awesome_ punishment . . ."

* * *

A while after that incident, Prussia was heading to his room in the basement when he heard clanging and cursing upstairs, so, still being awesome, he decided to investigate. Finding the room that was the source of the noise, he cracked the door open slightly to see what was going on and caught sight of . . . was that a giant block of ice in the middle of the room?

"Mein Gott, how is this supposed to work?" Germany asked in frustration as he chipped at it with a hammer. "Seriously, France's cuckoo clocks were a lot easier than this!"

Unable to stand the curiosity any longer, Prussia pushed the door open all the way and stepped into the room, startling his brother. "Hey West, what's with the block of ice?"

" _Aren't you usually downstairs practicing your broom music at this time_?" Germany exclaimed, unconsciously leaping away from the ice.

Prussia shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, but tell me! I want to know what it's for."

"Too bad. Now go away," he said, trying to wave his brother off.

"You sound like Switzerland."

"Go away!"

"Come on, West! As if you'd ever be able to keep it from me for long. Now spill!"

"I said go away!"

"We can go to the bar afterward and all the drinks will be on me!"

"You _owe_ me drink money!"

"I'll pay back the money, then."

". . . Really?"

"Nein," Prussia admitted. "But I really want to know, so you have to tell me!"

Germany paused. "You're not going to leave me alone about it, are you?"

"Ja, so spill already!" said Prussia. Germany took another moment to think.

"Still no."

"Oh, well," Prussia sighed, stepping out of the room. "Anyway, I think I'll be heading back to my room about now."

"Didn't you just say that you would keep bugging me about it?" Germany asked, surprised and rather annoyed.

"Well, ja," Prussia said, "But the ice melted a while ago, so . . ."

He sprinted into the basement as Germany turned around to see the huge puddle in the middle of the room. Well. That was going to totally warp the wood floor.

Facepalming, he said, "Gott im Himmel . . . maybe I'll just get Italy heliotropes or something instead."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #3: A Fangirl will _NEVER_ refer to a stalker as a "groupie". Calling it "adding some more awesomeness into someone's day" may be a true statement, but doesn't change the fact that it's still stalking.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **. . . Get it? Am _BUSH_ ed? Since she popped out of a—**

 **Japan: "Moving along."**

 **. . . Fine. Anyway, the "heliotropes" comment is sort of maybe a reference to "Buon San Valentino", a strip that is also depicted in Episodes 21 and 22 in Hetalia: Beautiful World (Season 5), though I would recommend reading the webcomic strip as well because it has some extra scenes that haven't really been shown in the anime.**

 **In _America's What?,_ "America's Writing Skills" (Chapter 12) and "America's Proposal Guidance" (Chapter 17) also contain references to Buon San Valentino—or, more specifically, _The Beginner's Guide to Relationships: for the Hard Hearted German_.**

 **Guest reviewer RainbowRose17 requested for someone to stalk their love interest and give them an ice sculpture of their lips (a reference to the instructions mentioned to be in _The Beginner's Guide to Relationships: for the Hard Hearted German_ in "America's Writing Skills", Chapter 12 of _America's What?_ ), and suggested GerIta ship tease, but sadly, it seems that Germany's better at manufacturing cuckoo clocks than ice sculptures, and since Belarus seems intent on following her brother everywhere, well . . . she kind of _AMBUSHE—_**

 **Britain: "We get the bloody pun, you git! And unless you'll go _five minutes_ without using it, I suggest that you just get on with the outro already!"**

 **Me: "Well, that wasn't very punny of you. If you want, I could give you some adv _ICE_ on—"**

 **Britain: *facepalm* "Why can't you just shut up?"**

 **Oh, and your hint/spoiler for the next chapter: "America's Vital Regions" (Chapter 15 of _America's What?_ ) A/N. But if you don't feel like checking, then your substitute hint is . . . *drumroll* . . .**

 **France: *pops in* " _France is cool_!"**

 **There it is! Prussia, the outro?**

 **Prussia: *pops in* "Stay awesome, kesesese!"**


	4. Romano Just HAD to Ask

**A/N: I'm so glad that the previous chapter was so well-received! ^J^ You're amazing! Now, on with the chapter! (Notes are at the bottom.)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Romano Just HAD to Ask**

* * *

"Stupid creepy Yaoi Army," Romano muttered to himself, taking another swig of his drink. "They're always sticking their damn noses into everything, the stalking perverts . . ."

He paused to frown at the bottle he was holding.

"And who has the right to make this Tokaji wine so damn good?" he glared. Sipping at it again, he mumbled into the bottle, "Bastards."

"Thank you," a familiar voice chirped. Romano immediately did a spit take.

Wiping off the liquid with his sleeve, he said, "Great, you made me waste the wine! You better get me another bottle, dammit!"

"Of course I will," Hungary assured him with a smile. "Napkin?"

"As if I'd accept one from _you_ , you pervert," Romano snapped, rejecting her offer. "How'd you get in here, anyway?"

"Japan taught me some ninja skills," said Hungary. "I was here the whole time."

" _You were here the_ —Wait, since when did you start using _ninja_ skills, you bastard?"

"Oh, it's a wonderful story," Hungary squealed, pulling up a chair. "You see—"

" _NO_!" Romano loudly interrupted with a huff. "No stories after breaking in. You're leaving."

"Hmm," Hungary frowned, thinking it over. Shrugging, she said, "Fine."

"Good."

". . . Right after I finish the story!"

" _DAMN YOU_!"

Opting to ignore his protests, Hungary smiled, "It all started on New Years' Eve . . ."

* * *

"So, Hungary-san," Japan whispered from their hiding spot beneath America's balcony. France was scouting from a nearby tree, and loud dance music could be heard through the walls of the building, which was to be expected of America's parties, of course. "Months of ninja training have been spent building up to this mission. Are you prepared?"

"Can we wait a few more minutes?" Hungary asked, glancing to the side. She seemed to be expecting someone or something.

But then again, the duties of boys' love wait for no one.

So, Japan deadpanned, "No. Now climb to a higher position for clearer audio and wait for France to give the signal to start recording."

Sighing, Hungary obediently began her ascent, taking her position with her back pressed uncomfortably against the wall. "I should've brought a pillow or something . . . . Well, as long as it's in the name of yaoi, I suppose I can manage without one."

" _France is cool . . . France is cool . . ._ " a nation that was—shocker— _France_ called from his tree.

Japan sweatdropped. "T-that wasn't the birdcall we agreed on!"

Nevertheless, Hungary began recording as two sets of footsteps approached the balcony directly above her, cringing as the volume of the dance music had a sudden spike as the doors opened and closed.

"Dude, where are you going?" America's voice could be heard. "The party's the other way!"

"Great, then I must be headed in the right direction, because I'm _leaving_ ," Britain's voice retorted.

"What? But you can't leave early!" America protested. "The party's just getting started!"

"It's almost midnight, you git!"

"Which is why you can't leave yet!" said America. "Isn't the whole point of a New Year's Eve party to stay past midnight and rock out, bro?"

Britain paused for a bit, seeming to be contemplating this notion. Hungary held her breath.

"I suppose a little longer couldn't hurt," he finally admitted.

Right on cue, slow violin music started to play from somewhere below them. Seriously. It was actually quite pretty, though the response was instantaneous.

" _AH, IT'S A GHOST_!" America exclaimed, leaping backwards in surprise. "I'm scared man, hold me, dude—I'm too awesome for this! _This-is-getting-freaky-bro-so-you-better-figure-a-way-out-of-this-quick-AH_!"

* * *

Romano facepalmed. "Of all the dumb things I've seen that bastard do . . ."

Pausing in her retelling, Hungary added, "He's also intimidated by blowfish."

"I wasn't asking for that, you bastard," he snapped. "Anyway, what happened next?"

"Well . . ."

* * *

"A quartet of violinists?" Japan sweatdropped once more at the sight of the four violinists still playing in the yard.

"I thought they'd provide romantic background music!" Hungary yelped, rapidly descending from her perch. "But no time for that, Greece is coming!"

"N-nani?" said Japan as he was dragged away with the violinists.

Behind them, the balcony doors opened again and a familiar, sleepy voice said, "Hey, America. I heard shouting, so I thought you could use some help."

"Greece, bro, it's super scary and there are ghosts and _you-freaking-have-to-save-us-man-like-HELP_!" America shrieked—and no, it wasn't in a Fangirl way.

"Quit shouting, you twat!" Britain demanded, plugging his ears.

"I don't think it's a ghost, but okay," Greece shrugged, not seeming alarmed in the slightest. "I shall call my army, then. Don't worry, I think they're nearby."

"You brought an _army_ to a New Year's Eve party?" Britain gawked.

Greece nodded. "Mm. See?"

And suddenly, there was a massive wave of cop cats. Seriously.

"Whoa, dude, you dressed up all your cats in little police outfits?" America marveled as the Grecian Army streaked past them and out onto the lawn, meowing and pausing to groom themselves. "That's wicked rad!"

Britain sweatdropped. "Uh, Greece, are you sure it's safe for them to jump off the balcony like that?"

"Hmm?" he paused, thinking. "Yeah, they'll do just about anything in the name of the Yaoi Army."

" _What the bloody hell are you talking about_?"

Meanwhile, said group of nations—France, Hungary, and Japan—had fled into the trees with the violinist quartet when Japan was forcibly glomped by several felines. Desperately clinging to a tree, France exclaimed, "Ah! Japan, are you okay? Because there has to be at least ten of them on you now and—Wow, there are just so _many_ . . ."

"Stop it! _Heh, heh_. I said stop! _Ha_! That tickles! _You're_ taking responsibility!"

France and Hungary sweatdropped in unison when they realized that the Grecian Army was purring at their companion instead of mauling him. Apparently, they were very well-acquainted with each other. Either that, or Greece's cats had no respect for personal space.

". . . Let's just get some sleep," Hungary finally sighed.

* * *

"Wait just a damn second," said Romano, setting down his drink. " _You_ made a sensible decision?"

"Whatever the Yaoi Army calls for!" she beamed. "Now, would you like some more wine?"

". . . Fine, you bastard."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #4: A Fangirl will _NEVER_ be afraid of pulling an all-nighter in the name of shipping . . . but seriously, get some sleep.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **So, this chapter was based off of a random conversation with Hungary in the A/N of "America's Vital Regions" (Chapter 15 of _America's What?_ ), in which she mentions one of her Yaoi Army missions with Japan.**

 **"France is cool": Something France tells himself in bed so that he can sleep soundly.**

 **France: *grins deviously* "You know _what else_ I like to do in bed?"**

 **Britain: "Shut up, will you?"**

 **As for the cop cats . . . yeah, I don't really know, either. ^J^**

 **The next chapter might be split into two parts to fulfill the request of reviewer vintagepone . . . with a twist! *cue [ _insert adjective here_ ] music***

 **Britain: "Well? Will you be giving us a bloody hint about what it's about, you twat?"**

 **. . . Right. But it'll be a really vague one in the form of a true story!**

 **Britain and France: *sweatdrop* "Seriously . . . ?"**

 **Really Vague Hint: The other day, I was on a typing software-thingy for a class in school when I came across a typing game called "Worldwide Shipping". You can probably guess what immediately came into mind! ^J^ But it had to do with typing numbers, so . . . I didn't really play it. Sigh.**

 **Britain: "That was . . . definitely vague . . ."**

 **Me: "Precisely! Now, is it time for the outro?"**

 **France: "Oui, I've got it, mon ami. Stay cool, like me and my hair, which is also super se—"**

 **Britain: " _Didn't I tell you to shut up already_?"**


	5. Britain's Seafaring Woes

**A/N: This chapter is finally up, guys! ^J^ I'm so glad that you've been enjoying this so far. Sorry I don't know too much about "Worldwide Shipping", though . . . the number-typing game, I mean. If it's the Hetalia kind of Worldwide Shipping, then I can assure you that I know it _very_ well, ohonhon—**

 **Britain: "Shut up! _One_ frog is already enough to deal with!"**

 **. . . _MUSTN'T. SPOIL. CHAPTER. ANY. FURTHER_. Anyway, this chapter is on the longer end of the spectrum so far, and it kind of sort of ties a bit into "America's a Trillionaire?" (Chapter 22 of _America's What?_ ), but it's only a brief, perhaps somewhat vague reference . . . you'll see! Also, is that . . . ship tease? Yes? No? Maybe? Possibly? Perhaps? But since I don't want to spoil (too much of) this chapter . . . notes are at the bottom!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Britain's Seafaring Woes: Requested by reviewer vintagepone**

* * *

Britain sighed in a "this-better-be-bloody-good" kind of way as an enthusiastic America dragged him along in a blindfold. "Will you just tell us what it is already, you git?"

"No way, dude!" he chirped. "That'll totally ruin the surprise!"

"How much farther will we have to walk, America-san?" Japan asked through his own blindfold, obediently following said nation.

"Don't worry, it's not that far," America assured them.

"That's what you said five minutes ago," Canada sighed, not that anyone noticed.

"It better bloody be!" Britain exclaimed, rubbing at his blindfold. "Blimey, this thing is irritating . . ."

Suddenly, America stopped, causing the other three to bump into him from behind. "Hey, we're here! Okay, bros, you can take off the blindfolds now!"

Relieved, Britain tore off the itchy thing in record speed—seriously, he was convinced that the twat had made it at the last minute out of a burlap sack—and was about to give the excited nation a long rant about how he shouldn't randomly drag away other nations while they were in the middle of a tea break when he noticed the three downsized 17th and 18th-century ships docked at the harbor and immediately forgot what he was about to say. Several other nations, who had apparently also been in for a surprise, were gawking nearby. Romano was the first to speak.

"W-what kind of crapola is _this_ , you bastard?" he demanded, turning on Spain, the nation that had brought him to the site.

Beaming, France twirled over in a flurry of roses and head-sparkles, draping an arm around Romano's shoulders—which said nation immediately and painfully slapped off, attempting to kick France in the shin for added effect; France, of course, pretended not to notice—"Well, mon ami—"

"Who're you calling your 'ami', wine bastard?" Romano frowned, swatting at France's face.

"—Amerique was lamenting over his lack of pirating experience," France continued, ignoring him, "so we thought we'd gather a group of nations for a sort of showdown. Brilliant, non?"

"No," Romano deadpanned. "And which bastards are part of this 'we' you're talking about?"

Right on cue, an energetic voice called, "I'm _DENMARK_!"

As five more nations joined the crowd, Denmark looking way happier than most of his companions, Norway deadpanned, "I'm Norway."

"I'm Iceland," sighed said nation.

"I'm Finland," said Finland, sounding considerably happier than the former two.

Sweden frowned. "I'm Sweden."

" _And we're the Nordics_!" they announced in unison, _some_ more enthusiastically than others. For extra emphasis, Denmark thumped his—Wait, he brought his _battleax_? And did that helmet . . . have _horns_?

There was a collective sweatdrop as the other nations took in what the Nordic Five was wearing.

"Why're you in _Viking gear_?" Austria frowned, still rubbing his forehead after removing the blindfold Prussia had forced onto him. Hungary, who had also been among the nations whisked off by Prussia, seemed to be dealing with the whole ordeal pretty well. "And why don't _they_ have blindfolds?"

Denmark winced slightly in recollection. "Well . . ."

* * *

"Drinks are on Norway until he agrees to keep on the blindfold!" Denmark proclaimed cheerily.

"How did you get us to agree to this . . . ?" Iceland wondered.

"I think it's exciting!" Finland beamed. "I wonder what the big surprise is . . . right, Sweden?"

"Hmm," frowned said nation from under his own blindfold, but didn't object.

Norway sighed, ripping off his blindfold. "That's it—this thing is too uncomfortable."

Denmark pouted. "Come on, Norway—"

" _I'm not wearing it and that is FINAL_ ," Norway stated, strangling Denmark by the collar of his shirt until he relented.

" _ACK_! Okay, okay!" he finally complied, and Norway released him. Then Denmark grinned. "But only if you wear _these_."

* * *

"And you _agreed_?" asked Hungary, looking more giddy from the story than what would be considered appropriate—especially considering that she and Japan had somehow gained matching _nosebleeds_ from it. With a sigh, Austria passed over a few tissues he'd learned to bring along for times like these.

"Why wouldn't we?" Sweden deadpanned.

"Especially when we're going to be having a paintball fight on these ships," Finland added. Romano turned to France. "Dressing up for battle is fun!"

"You were _SERIOUS_?" he gaped. "A damn paintball fight on _ships_ —that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Well, other than maybe that burger bastard's ideas, but either way, it still sounds stupid."

"Romano, that wasn't very nice!" Spain chided.

"Shut up, you bastard."

"But of course we're having a paintball fight on ships," France winked at Romano, dodging another attempted kick from said nation. "You see the chalk targets we drew on the ships, non? If all of the targets on your ship are hit, then you've been sunk and eliminated. The last one floating wins. Now, now that everyone's here, that only leaves one thing to be decided."

"Yeah?" Romano asked warily. "And what's that, wine bastard?"

Prussia grinned. "The awesome teams, of course! But no doubt about it, my ship will be the awesomest ship out there, kesesese!"

And with that verbal cue, Hungary and Japan's nosebleeds suddenly intensified. Wordlessly, Austria handed over the whole box of tissues for them to use.

"Well, obviously, we Nordics are going to be a team!" Denmark exclaimed, not noticing the yaoi-induced nosebleeds happening nearby. Norway frowned.

"What do you mean, 'obviously'?"

"Hey Norway, dude, if you don't want to be on a ship with Denmark, do you think you can haul your Viking gear over here and join me on my ship?" America asked excitedly, fist-pumping. The other nations sweatdropped. "That stuff looks wicked rad!"

". . . I think I'll stick with the other Nordics," Norway sighed, relenting.

"It's like our raiding days all over again, isn't it?" Finland beamed. "Except with paintball and fake fur instead of the real thing."

"But aren't you terrifyingly good at paintball?" Iceland asked.

Suddenly, Finland's smile turned a lot more malevolent in a way that eerily resembled Russia. "Exactly."

"Dibs on Britain!" America grinned, grabbing said nation by the arm.

Shrugging off America's hand, Britain frowned, "What makes you think I'd ever be on a ship with _you_?"

"Dude, weren't you totally a pirate?" said America, "Of course we're on the same ship, bro! You've got to teach me all your awesome pirate moves!"

"As if I'd ever do _that_ , you twat!" Britain huffed.

"I'm fine as long as I get Canada," France said, twirling by with another flurry of roses and head-sparkles. The effect was immediate and will be detailed in a pretty long series of words, so buckle up:

" _DREAM ON, FRANCE_!" shouted America, who totally wanted his brother on his ship because, hey, they're bros; Prussia, who thought France was not quite awesome enough for Birdie; Britain, who wanted to keep them apart partially to piss off France and partially because he didn't like the idea of _anyone_ being forced to share a ship with the frog; and Hungary, Japan, and Spain, who were actually trying to be supportive of their fellow member of the Yaoi Army/Bad Touch Trio. Simultaneously, Romano was shouting " _SHUT IT, WINE BASTARD_ " and Austria was busy facepalming.

There. You were warned.

"Well, that's disappointing," France simply shrugged, unfazed. "In that case, I'll just have to be on a ship with Angleterre."

As the other nations gawked, Hungary and Japan sighed as their nosebleeds, which had just started to calm down, started up again at full force—and to top it all off, France _winked_.

"Sorry, dude," America laughed, dabbing at his eyes. "For a second, I totally thought you just said _Britain_."

"That's because I did, Amerique."

"Oh, alr—Wait, you're _serious_?" America gagged. Recomposing himself, he frowned, "But France, dude, I already have dibs on him, remember?"

" _Excuse_ me?" Britain crossed his arms. " _No one_ gets 'dibs' on a former pirate."

"What if I traded my dibs on Canada for your dibs on Britain?" France suggested thoughtfully.

"Well, as a member of the Awesome Trio, America _is_ acceptably awesome for that," Prussia noted.

"And France and Britain _have_ been building up centuries' worth of tension," Hungary agreed. "But then again, who hasn't with Britain?"

"You shut up too, you pervert!" Romano snapped.

"Romano, that wasn't very nice!" said Spain.

"Yeah, I think France's offer is perfectly reasonable!" Finland smiled.

Frowning, Romano wheeled on Finland. "And _you_ , you should—"

He abruptly cut himself off with a sweatdrop upon seeing the look on Sweden's face.

". . . Never mind," Romano sighed.

Considering the offer, America muttered, "Well, Canada _is_ my brother . . ."

"You bloody _git_!" Britain exclaimed, starting to slap at America—though of course, the younger nation deflected all of these with his arm—"Don't put me with the _frog_!"

"Well, we all know you secretly enjoy it very much, Britain-san," Japan said pointedly.

Britain gawped. "I do _NOT_!"

"We're wasting time," Austria stepped forward, his look disapproving. "Besides, I want to play some more piano after this! America, Britain, Canada, France, and Japan can be on one ship. Prussia, Hungary, Spain, Romano, and I can be on the other. Is that settled?"

". . . _Why'd you stick me with the FROG_?" Britain protested loudly.

"Oh, get over it already, you bastard!" Romano elbowed him harder than necessary. "Let's just get on with it, dammit!"

Britain sighed, giving in. Seeing this, Prussia whooped. " _AWESOME_! Now the game finally starts, keseses—"

Suddenly, there was the cry of " _FIRE_!"—which was all the warning they received before two of the three ships in the harbor were bombarded with paintballs.

"M-maple . . ." Canada sweatdropped with the other nations as they turned to the ship that had issued the cry.

Clad in all their Viking glory, the Nordics grinned down at them from the deck of their ship—the only one that hadn't been immediately eliminated.

" _WHEN DID YOU GET UP THERE_?"

"We already knew our team," Norway deadpanned, "So we thought we'd take position."

"You said the game started, so we were just playing," said Iceland. "But we still won."

"But none of us were on our ships!" France pouted.

Finland shrugged. "All you said was that we had to hit all the targets to win, so we did!"

Before the other nations could respond to this, Denmark piped up, "Well, since we're all dressed up for it, let's set sail!"

"But we agreed not to leave the harbor, dude!" America reminded him.

Denmark grinned as their ship started to move away. "Are you kidding? We're _Vikings_!"

And with that, the Nordics were off, sailing into the distance as the other nations gaped from the dock. As for the Nordics' journey, well . . . suffice to say that it was way too badass for this fic, but at the next World Meeting, the Monaco, Macau, and the Netherlands were giving the five of them three very pissed-off glares as the Nordics sat surrounded by several very sizeable heaps of gold, to the shock of the other nations present at the meeting.

"Those bastards actually _found_ something?" Romano asked in bewilderment.

"Wow, it's so shiny!" Italy marveled, having not been present for the devastating paintball battle. His fratello facepalmed.

It is rumored that with their great Viking cosplay powers, Denmark, Norway, Iceland, Finland, and Sweden had somehow found the Legendary Money Mountain of An Undisclosed Location on their journey . . . and raided it in a totally badass way.

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #5: A Fangirl has at least _contemplated_ cosplay.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **. . . You may or may not see the reference. But it's there! ^J^ *cough* _money-mountain-Monaco-Macau-Netherlands-great-there-goes-my-alliteration_ *cough***

 **The reviewer vintagepone requested FrUK and USUK ship wars, during which Hungary is "that one multishipper who goes 'STOP THE WAR AND HUGE YAOIFEST PLEASE'", so of course there's a twist involved utilizing a little something called . . . actually, I don't really know what it's called, but apparently it results in " _BOOM_! Insta- _paintball-game-involving-seriously-overpowered-opponents_!"**

 **Iceland: ". . . Nordic Powers?"**

 **Me: " _THAT'S IT, ICE-Y_!"**

 **Iceland: *deadpan* "No. Just . . . no."**

 **Aw! . . . Fine. Anyhow, there is a short scene that I wanted to fit into this chapter while they were trying to decide on teams, but since that would've shifted away a lot of the focus on the "Britain should, like, totally be on my team!" conflict going on and because this chapter is pretty long already, I'll probably include it in the next chapter as a sort of omake to this one, and it'll probably fulfill the latter part of vintagepone's request, if this chapter hasn't. ^J^ But since the scene is pretty short, it'll probably be up pretty soon, so look out for that!**

 **Hint: Who were we fighting over again?**

 **Poland: "Like, stay totally fabulous!"**


	6. Britain's Seafaring Woes: OMAKE

**A/N: Well, it's _OMAKE TIME_! WOOT! I tweaked it a bit to fulfill a request left by Guest reviewer Alexandra on "America's a Trillionaire?" (Chapter 22 of _America's WHAT?_ ), and— _WAIT_. MUST. RESIST. URGE. TO _SPOIL_. *cough* _SHIP TEASE ALERT_ *cough***

 **More in the notes at the bottom. ^J^ I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Britain's Seafaring Woes: OMAKE: Requested by reviewer vintagepone and Guest reviewer Alexandra**

* * *

Canada had thought that he'd be _glad_ to have the other nations notice him. But seriously? It sucked to be fought over.

"Canada should be on _my_ team because we're totally bros," said America, crossing his arms defensively.

"But you're bros with the awesome me, too!" Prussia pointed out. "Or did you forget about the Bro Code? Because that would be totally unawesome of you if you did."

"Exactly, and as a fellow Bro, you must accept that I have dibs on Canada," America stated flatly.

"Actually, _I_ have dibs on Canada," France reminded them.

" _BUTT OUT, FRANCE_!" America and Prussia exclaimed.

France pouted. Then he grinned. "Or is there something else you'd rather have me do with my—"

"I can pay you to have Canada on my team," the Netherlands interrupted, displaying an impressively sized sack of money.

"You're not even playing!" Britain protested.

"Exactly how much money are we talking about?" France asked thoughtfully.

"What's the prize for winning?" asked the Netherlands.

"Bragging rights, bro!" America whooped.

"Never mind," the Netherlands sighed, pocketing his money and walking away, to France's disappointment.

"It doesn't matter anyhow, because soon all will become one with Mother Russia, da?" said Russia, appearing next to them from—Wait, can he teleport?

" _ACK_! Who invited the crazy-face?" said Prussia.

"Wait, did you just call yourself a chick?" America asked.

Russia paused. ". . . I think I'll be leaving now."

Recalling an awesome method that he'd heard of for settling disputes over living objects—because hey, who _hasn't_ disputed over something that probably has a soul?—Prussia stepped forward once more and suggested in an attempt to figure out who would be an acceptably awesome teammate for Birdie: "Hey, we should awesomely split him, kesesese! That way, we can all get a piece!"

The other nations immediately sweatdropped, ushering hasty words of "No, that isn't really necessary" and "I think I'll pass, but thanks". That is, all of them except . . .

"Dude, that idea sounds wicked rad!" America fist-pumped, to their bewilderment.

"I'm glad you—Wait, _WHAT_?" Prussia gagged. "But . . . he's your _brother_!"

 _Though since when did that stop America x Canada from happening?_ Hungary mused.

"Yeah, so this way we can totally both get a piece of him, bro!" America grinned. Ignoring the others' protests, he elaborated, "You see, dude, France is all or nothing, so he won't go for _just a piece_ ; Britain's fine as long as France doesn't get Canada; Romano and Austria just want us to get it over with; and Spain, Hungary, and Japan want . . . uh . . . hey, what _do_ you guys want?"

" _STOP THE WAR AND HUGE YAOIFEST PLEASE_!" Hungary declared as she tried to stifle her nosebleed. Japan simply nodded beside her.

Gesturing at them with his thumb, America continued, unfazed, "Anyway, they want that. So it's just you and me going for him, bro, which means that we'll have to split him half and half."

"And to think I'd thought your ideas couldn't get any stupider, burger bastard," Romano muttered.

"Maple . . ." Canada winced. Kumajiro looked up.

"Who're you?"

"I'm Canada!" the aforementioned nation reminded him exasperatedly. "You know, the nation that's about to get _split_?"

"Oh," said Kumajiro. "Have fun with that, eh?"

Canada sweatdropped some more.

"Hey, he's the one that came up with it!" America ignored Canada's brief exchange with Kumajiro, instead choosing to respond to Romano's comment by pointing out Prussia, who leapt in surprise.

"I didn't think you'd actually go through with it!" Prussia exclaimed.

America shrugged. "Well anyway, how should we go about this? I say that you get the bear and I get Canada, since I'm the Hero!"

Prussia was about to continue protesting the splitting of the nation before he, as well as the other nations present, realized what America had had in mind was much less messy than what he had been envisioning—which resulted in a simultaneous facepalm.

Still, now that he couldn't get the image of trying to split Canada in half out of his head, he simply sighed, ". . . You can have both."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #6: In a world where virtually everyone's brothers . . . no one's brothers.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **So, this chapter pretty much fulfills the "STOP THE WAR AND HUGE YAOIFEST PLEASE" portion of reviewer vintagepone's request, so yay! ^J^**

 **Hungary: *nods sagely* "The name of yaoi is an honorable one indeed."**

 **Guest reviewer Alexandra requested for some Canada x The World in which he is fought over by multiple nations. Poor guy! Whether he's seen or not . . . there's just no winning for him, is there? ^J^ It isn't especially shippy ("shipp-y"? "ship-y"?), but I hope it'll do!**

 **Guest reviewer Mavis's requests from "America's a Trillionaire?" (Chapter 22 of _America's What?_ ) will probably be fulfilled in several future chapters (probably Chapter 7 and Chapter 9). Reviewer GuardianGirl24's request will probably be fulfilled in Chapter 8. Yay!**

 **Oh, and your hint for Chapter 7. Let's see . . . oh! This one will be in the form of a quote, the source of which will be cited in the next chapter so as to not spoil (too much of) it. *cough* _SHIP TEASE ALERT_ *cough***

 **Hint: "About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him [...] that thirsted for my blood."**

 **The third thing? Heh, heh . . . *cue dark aura***

 **Prussia: *pops in* "Stay aweso—Hey, what happened to you? Now you're really freaking me out!" *shudder***


	7. Prussia's in the Entertainment Industry!

**A/N: Sorry for updating so late! This chapter took a while to type up . . . *sweatdrop* Anyway, it has _MANY_ references in it, so . . . I warned you! ^J^**

 **In regards to the hint I had for this chapter, I'll be citing its source at the bottom of this chapter, as well as acknowledging some of the other references within the chapter, in the notes. ^J^**

 **This chapter fulfills the request of Guest reviewer Mavis, though I may have tweaked it a bit . . . ^J^ I hope you enjoy! Also, ship tease? Yes? No? Maybe?**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Prussia's in the Entertainment Industry!: Requested by Guest reviewer Mavis**

* * *

"Hey, you know how the awesome me totally took a break from TV after a group of aliens unawesomely tried to take over the world?" Prussia asked his fellow members of the Awesome and Bad Touch Trios, sounding oddly specific, entirely vague, and completely unprecedented.

"Wait, did you say 'aliens'?" Denmark asked, popping up from the box he was rifling through in the search for video games he and America were currently having.

"Totally, dude!" America confirmed, pausing in the search as well. "You kind of missed it, but I can totally give you the deets, bro—because all you need to know is _I'm the Hero_!"

". . . I don't think that's how I remember it happening, Amerique," France sighed from the sofa, turning back to Prussia. "Anyway, please continue about this . . . whatever that question is supposed to lead into."

"Well, I was thinking that it's about time for the awesome me to make an awesome comeback into the entertainment industry," Prussia grinned, "so I thought we could start _another_ awesome TV show together!"

"That sounds like a great idea!" Spain happily agreed.

"If it's the entertainment industry you're talking about, then I am the man, my man!" America flashed a big thumbs-up. France frowned.

"Not that I don't like the idea, mon ami," he said, "but what do you mean, 'I thought we could'? Shouldn't you be saying 'I think we should'?"

"You see, it's a totally awesome story," Prussia began, leaning back into his seat. "So, I actually thought of starting the awesome TV show a while ago, so the awesome me awesomely approached an awesome studio and pitched the idea—because I'm just that awesome—and, unable to deny my pure awesomeness, they agreed and prepared a totally awesome building and everything to start filming in and all that's left is to awesomely pick out the awesome guests and actually start the awesome filming. But _we'll_ be the awesome hosts, of course!"

"I don't think I caught any of that," France and Spain sighed, though they'd caught the words "awesome", "building", "filming", "awesome", "guests", "awesome", "name", "awesome", and "hosts", so they got the gist of it. Meanwhile, America and Denmark, who were fluent in the language of awesomeness, whooped in delight.

"So, you've told us about how it came to be," said Spain, "but you haven't told us the show's concept yet, mi amigo."

"Oh!" Prussia exclaimed excitedly. "It's awesome—we awesomely grab two guests who totally can't stand each other and use the show as an awesome excuse to force them on stage together for an awesome half hour of entertainment. And did I mention that it's _awesome_? Though then again, I still haven't figured out who the awesome guests will be . . ."

"Ohonhonhon, you can leave that task to me, mon ami!" France declared, leaping to his feet. "I know just who to call."

And before anyone could respond, he'd already disappeared out the door in a glorious flash of head-sparkles and bright clothing.

" _I'LL SEND YOU THE AWESOME ADDRESS VIA GILBIRD_ ," Prussia called after him, though France was already far off.

After all, he had his duty to the glamorous world of l'amour to fulfill.

* * *

Not long afterward, the Awesome and Bad Touch Trios found themselves grappling down onto a stage in front of a live audience with an ominously smug-looking France.

Retracting his grappling hook, Prussia greeted the audience with one of his Top 10 Awesomest Totally Awesome Grins of All Time. "Welcome to the awesome first-ever episode of . . ." Here, he paused to extract a notecard to read off of—the studio had decided to pick the name of the show without him, and he'd forgotten to check with them about what it was before filming. However, upon finding out via notecard, he immediately sweatdropped. "Uh . . . welcome to the totally awesome first-ever episode of _Become One, Da?_ , where we invite awesome guests who totally can't stand each other for the sole purpose of watching them get into some awesome catfigh—"

"—For the purpose of having half an hour of entertainment," France hastily intervened.

America frowned. "Dude, who came up with the title?"

Spain shrugged. "Well, Russia's funding the show, and—"

"Oh, alri—Wait, this is coming out of _RUSSIA's_ wallet?" America gaped.

"—letting him choose the title was one of his conditions, or else he would refuse to provide the money," Spain finished. He blinked, seeing the stunned look on America's face. "Hey, are you okay?"

Prussia waved dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, now let's hurry up and get to the awesome part!" he shouted into the microphone, causing several winces from the audience members—the Awesome Trio and Spain managed to remain oblivious to the noise; France wasn't so fortunate—as he pulled out another notecard. "So. This awesome guest used to be crazy strong, has been described as 'the manliest character in the series'—though of course, I'm still the awesomest—and knows how to awesomely wield . . . a kitchen tool? Wait, you can't mean—"

" _FRANCE_!" a voice shouted as one of the side walls suddenly lost a lot of bricks but gained a gaping hole. "I received your report! Where's the boys' love you sai—Oh, is that an audience?"

The audience was too busy gawking to respond. Prussia was too busy being in an awesome stupor to introduce the next guest, so Denmark jumped in, "Yeah, give a hand for Hungary, our first guest! . . . Er, Prussia? Hey, where are you going?"

But Prussia had immediately fled from the stage, so Denmark simply shrugged.

"Okay, dudes!" America fist-pumped, unfolding his own notecard. "Our second guest has multiple dogs named after him, totally rocks it at tabletop, and . . . he's got a fang? Huh, didn't see that one coming. Anyway, let's give another warm welcome for Romano!"

When no one else came out onto the stage, France facepalmed, muttering, "You mean Roumanie, Amerique."

"What's that, bro? Another one of your ship names?" America guessed blankly.

"He's talking about Romania," Denmark explained.

". . . Whoa, that's a real place, dude?" America asked excitedly. "So, like, is he a vampire? Can he come out during the daytime? Does he come out during the daytime? Is he sparkly? Does he drink blood? How many blood banks does he have? Hey, was he in the 2007 Christmas Bloodbath? Does he sleep in a coffin? Or does he sleep upside-down? Or does he not sleep at all? Does he have a moat and a drawbridge? Does he ride in a carriage? Or is he a modern dude with an expensive car, like a Volvo or something? Do his eyes change colors when he gets hungry? Is he surrounded by bats? Can he turn into a bat? How does he turn into a bat? Can he teach me how to turn into a bat? Because flying sounds _AWESOME_! Does he have his own hotel? Does he ever come in contact with humans? What kind of blood does he drink? Can he have anything other than blood? Has he ever had a burger? Because if he hasn't, then—"

" _EVERYBODY, PLEASE AWESOMELY WELCOME ROMANIA TO THE STAGE_!" Prussia interrupted, America's flood of questions having given him enough time to return after having spent quite a while delivering a panicked monologue to a bored-looking Gilbird.

Spain stared at him. "Did you just use the word 'please', mi amigo?"

"Yeah, yeah," Prussia huffed, once again dismissing Spain's comment. Watching as Romania entered and almost immediately began a stare-down with Hungary in the background, he muttered, "Well, this is a lot less awesome than I thought it would be."

". . . Do you seriously name dogs after me?" Romania finally asked.

"Not as many as you have roaming around Bucharest," Hungary assured him wryly. "On a side note, Romania, I heard that you've been doing fairly well in the Summer Olympics, seeing how you've been taking gold, silver, bronze . . ."

"Well, that's uncharacteristically nice of you to notice," Romania remarked.

". . . as well as copper, tin, and whatever else you can lay your hands on," she finished.

" _There_ it is," Romania sighed. "On a related note, I've seen the stripes on your police cars. The blues are rather pretty . . ."

"I'm glad that you think so," said Hungary. "After all, I'm sure that that's what the inside of your soul looks like. Well, either that or an endless pit of eternal darkness."

". . . though I'm sure that you must have painted them that color in order to help find where the door handles are," Romania finished.

Hungary clenched and unclenched her frying pan, debating on whether or not to smack him just yet. "At least _I_ don't sing about Russia in my spare time."

"Yes, I recall that you prefer to sing about flowers and _coffins_ as a lullaby," Romania nodded. Prussia sweatdropped, recalling Hungary's rendition of "Gloomy Sunday".

" _You took Transylvania_!" Hungary exclaimed, promptly proceeding to tackle Romania to the floor, entering a catfigh— _AHEM_ , Hungary and Romania simply continued the half hour of entertainment by . . . er . . . . Yeah, they were totally battling it out in the middle of the stage.

The other nations—plus the audience—sweatdropped. Well, that is, all of them except . . .

"Whoa, Transylvania's a real place, too?" America asked, summoning head-sparkles.

"Hey, that's my thing," France pouted.

Not noticing France's comment, America continued, "So, do you really run a hotel there? Are there werewolves, too? Have you ever fought a werewolf? Because that would be totally awesome, man! What did you fight over? Oh! If you're a vampire, do you like eating granola bars in the morning? Can you see yourself in the mirror? Do you appear in photographs? What happens if a newspaper wants to take a picture of you? How do you brush your hair? Can you use mind-control? Can you read minds? Do you read minds? Are you controlling my mind right now? Because that would be—"

"Uh, do you think we should still air this episode?" Spain asked in concern.

"Da," Russia replied, suddenly appearing behind him. "If you don't, then—"

"Ja, of course we'll be airing it!" Prussia interrupted with a whoop. "After all, it's awesome seeing Hungary beat the scheiße out of someone other than the awesome me, and—Hmm? What's up with the crazy-face?"

" _Kolkolkolkolkol_ . . ."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #7: A Fangirl will be fluent in the awesome language of awesomeness.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **In "America's a Trillionaire?" (Chapter 22 of _America's What?_ ), Guest reviewer Mavis requested for Hungary and Romania to go on the Jerry Springer show, but I kind of sort of tweaked it . . .**

 **Prussia: "If by that you mean 'added a lot more awesome' to it, kesesese!"**

 **. . . Sure, whatever you say, dude! ^J^ But Hungary and Romania's appearance together on the show wasn't all that Guest reviewer Mavis requested, so Guest reviewer Mavis's other request will probably be fulfilled in Chapter 9.**

 **Anyway, the quote from the hint for this chapter in the previous chapter came from the book _Twilight_ by Stephanie Meyer, since *spoiler* _VAMPIRES_. And as you can see, America seems pretty psyched about that subject *cough* _vampires_ *cough*, so of course, he has _A LOT_ of questions (and references)! A lot of the references are also to _Twilight_ , though there are also some to the movie _Hotel Transylvania_ and to Kellogg's Nutri-Grain fruit crunch bar vampire commercial, so . . . yeah. ^J^**

 **Prussia's question at the beginning of the chapter that refers to his "break from TV" following an attempted alien takeover of the world references the Hetalia movie _Paint it, White!_**

 **The "singing about Russia" comment Hungary makes refers to the Hetalia Christmas 2011 event, and the "Gloomy Sunday" thing refers to both a Hungarian song and Episode 15: "Mildew for Sweeter Wine!" of Hetalia's Monthly Comic Birz . . . and *spoiler* yes, she _does_ sing it to Prussia, and it totally freaks him out. ^J^**

 **I did not come up with the "gold, silver, bronze [...] and whatever else you can lay your hands on" comment Hungary uses or Romania's "door handle" thing about Hungary's police cars by myself . . . you can thank the internet for those. ^J^ But the "inside of your soul" thing? _TOTALLY_. Well, as far as I'm aware . . . unless maybe Romania's been controlling my mind all this time.**

 **Romania: "Huh?"**

 **America: *fangirling* "DUDE, YOU ARE _TOTALLY_ A VAMPIRE! . . . Wait, did you just say that I was 'fangirling', bro?"**

 **Me: "Uh . . . sure?"**

 **America: "That. Is. _AWESOME_! I have _got_ to tell everyone else about this!"**

 **. . . Okay then! Anyhow, I think I've covered just about all of the references . . . _MAYBE_. *sweatdrop* (The last few times I thought I'd gotten all of them, I went back through and found _MORE_. It's got to be the Magic Trio at work, right? ^J^)**

 **The requests of reviewer Tail Tie will probably be fulfilled within the next five chapters. ^J^ The next chapter should fulfill the request of reviewer GuardianGirl24, so look out for that! Hmm, but what for the hint? Let's see . . .**

 **Britain: *sweatdrop* "Oh, anything but another quote from a bloody vampire-romance novel . . ."**

 **Me: "Alright, then it's time for . . . _QUESTION FORMAT_!" *cue [ _insert adjective here_ ] music***

 **Britain: " _YOU SODDING_ —"**

 **Me: "Would you prefer another _Twilight_ quote?"**

 **Britain: ". . . Please continue."**

 **Hint: Is it just me, or is What's-His-Face as cool as puck?**

 **Prussia: "Kesesese, stay awesome!"**


	8. Canada's—Wait, Who the Puck is This?

**A/N: _I'M BACK_! School is . . . busy. Yeah, I'll just go with that.**

 **Sweden: *looks up* "Hmm?"**

 **Me: "Yep, I'm totally back now! So you can give me chocolate and everything!"**

 **Sweden: "Hmm. Well, you got another request. Reviewer MehLikey."**

 **Me: ". . . Sweden?"**

 **Sweden: "Hmm?"**

 **Me: "Can I hear you say 'MehLikey' at least, like, twelve times?"**

 **Sweden: *sweatdrop* ". . . I'm going to go walk Hanatamago now."**

 **Me: *calls after him* " _I ACCEPT, BY THE WAY_!"**

 **. . . Yeah, that request will probably be fulfilled within the next five chapters. Oh, and in response to the Guest reviewer Guest's prediction . . . Canada, eh? Don't worry about it! ^J^ Warning for this chapter? _LOTS_ of interjections starting with the word "wait".**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Canada's—Wait, Who the Puck is This?: Requested by reviewer GuardianGirl24**

* * *

The indoor ice rink looked much larger on the inside than it did on the outside, not to mention a lot colder—Denmark would have paused to join the game of hockey taking place inside, but he had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

" _HEY, AMERICA_!" he shouted, rapidly approaching the two figures who were—literally—clashing hockey sticks over the puck, which had come to a stop on the ice between their battle. "It's about time to head to the bar! Are you ready for a—Wait, since when did you have a clone?"

Their hockey sticks formed an "X" in midair; it was clearly taking the aforementioned clone a good deal of effort not to cave against America's superhuman strength. Still, he managed to huff indignantly, "I'm Canada!"

Yeah, _sure_ he was—which is sarcasm, of course. That guy? _TOTALLY_ a clone. Poor dude's probably just in denial . . . and possibly pain, considering how the sticks looked like they were just about to break.

"Who?" the bear seated alone in the bleachers called.

"You know, the one who's going to _win_!" the _TOTALLY-still-in-denial_ clone exclaimed, suddenly skating to the side, breaking the "X" their sticks made as he cleanly swept the puck into the goal, which had been left unguarded. As America dramatically fell to his knees and shouted at the sky in the background, Canada grinned, "I told you I'd win, eh?"

". . . Can I order another Miracle on Ice via Prime?" America muttered, having resigned himself to sulking on the floor of the rink. Canada groaned.

"Nope, but you can order beer!" Denmark chirped.

"Quit crying over it, America!" said Canada, poking at his brother with the end of his hockey stick. Exasperated when America didn't immediately respond, he sighed, "See? This always happens whenever Russia and I—"

"Shut up, dude! It's bad enough that the commie bastard's paying for our TV show," America interrupted, ignoring Canada's protests of "He's not commun—Wait, you have a TV show?" and Denmark's remark of "That's great and all, but can we just get some beer and—Wait, is Romano rubbing off on you?" Then America paused, struck by a revelation. "Wait. That's it! _We have a TV show_!"

"That's what I just said," Canada reminded him. Suddenly, his brother shot up and grabbed him by the wrist, starting to drag him out of the rink. "H-hey! What're you doing?"

"Yeah, the bar's in the other direction!" Denmark noted with a pout.

"Get the others and meet us at the building," America called, already towing Canada out the door. "It's time to _Become One, Da?_ "

"M-maple . . . that sounds so creepy coming out of your mouth, eh? And what about Kumalobster?"

Still inside the ice rink, Denmark sighed, pulling out his phone. "Well, looks like I've got some calls to make . . ."

Kumajiro looked up again from the bleachers. "Who're you?"

Denmark beamed. " _I'M DENMARK_!"

And right on cue, the other Nordics appeared to introduce themselves, following his announcement with "I'm Norway/Iceland/Sweden/Finland" and then a "And we're the Nordic Five—the most badass cosplayers you'll ever see!" in unison before turning to the bear for a response. Unfortunately, during their introductions, Kumajiro's attention had drifted to the vending machine, so they wound up with a collective sweatdrop.

Mr. Puffin turned to Denmark. "Hey, didn't you have some calls to make or something?"

* * *

"Welcome . . . episode . . . two . . . Become One . . . Da?" Spain announced between gasped as he and his fellow members of the Bad Touch Trio ran onto the stage. Stopping to catch his breath, he asked, "Míos dios, mi amigo . . . remind me why we . . . came here on such short . . . notice again?"

"Ask . . . Denmark," Prussia panted. Seeming to recover quicker than his companion, he commented, "Wow, that was a totally unawesome move, by the way. Where is the guy, anyhow? And—Wait, how does _France_ look perfectly fine?"

Grinning, said nation replied deviously, "Ohonhonhon, it's all thanks to the _French_ way of dieting, mon ami! In fact, I can tell you all abou—"

"I think we'll pass," Spain—thankfully—interrupted. France pouted.

"Okay, so," said Prussia, pulling out a notecard to read o—Wait, that huge thing is a _NOTECARD_? How'd he fit _that_ in his—Right, going off-topic here. Anyway, not noticing his fellow hosts' sweatdrops, Prussia read, "Our first guest is on the search for freedom, justice, burgers, liberty, dieting metho—France, that expression is totally unawesome and definitely creepy, so cut it out!—superheroes, the Legendary Ability to Read the Atmosphere, happy endings, the right moment to dramatically remove his glasses for emphasis, a—"

"Mon dieu, we should really have a word limit for these things," France commented.

Fortunately, the Nordics chose that moment to make their entrance, Denmark gagging as he stumbled onto the stage with Norway strangling him with his tie as Sweden and Iceland frowned. Oblivious to the stunned state of the audience as they stared at the scene before them, Finland beamed, "Everyone, please welcome America to the stage! Hey, what're you all looking at? Did Denmark sneak beer onto the stage?"

"I'm still the Hero, so whatevs, bro!" America declared as he appeared onto the stage. Looking at Denmark, who had at this point collapsed on the floor, America asked, "So Denmark, dude, are you going to introduce the next guest or what?"

"Our next guest likes ice cream, maple syrup, world peace, and being noticed, among other two-word things," Norway deadpanned. "Please welcome . . . uh, who was it again?"

"I'm Canada!" said the dude that's totally America's clone, stepping onto the stage with a frown. "You know, C-A-N-A-D-A?"

"I'm pretty sure there's an 'i' in there somewhere, bro," America remarked.

The so-called "Canada" sent him a withering look. "Just be glad I agreed to come. Why're we even here in the first place, anyway?"

"Because _you've_ beat me in hockey way too many times, dude!" he replied.

"That's because I'm better than you at it and you're just in denial!" Canada said. "Plus, you're jealous of the fact that I'm currently _leading_ in that Olympic sport!"

"You're also leading in something called _curling_ —how's that even _in_ the Olympics?" America asked. "I mean, you literally slide 'rocks' to a 'house', bro. You might expect to see demolition work going on, but _no_ , it's just people _shuffling a hunk of granite across a sheet of ice_."

"You're just bitter because you haven't gotten past a bronze in that sport," Canada retorted. "Besides, you're the one leading in a sport called 'skeleton'. Do you know how much it catches me off-guard whenever I hear someone say 'The men's skeleton is really coming along, eh?'?"

"Wait, I'm leading in that?" America's eyes widened in surprise. "Like, no joke, bro—that's really a real sport?"

"How do you not remember when _you're_ the one leading in it?" Canada gaped.

"Well, I'm kind of used to placing pretty high up," America shrugged. Counting on his fingers, he continued, "You know, since I'm currently also leading in athletics, swimming, diving, boxing, basketball, tennis, snowboarding, freestyle skiing, socc—"

By this point, a plethora of fuming nations had gathered around the nation as he rattled off the list, getting angrier with each letter. Before he could finish saying the word "soc—" _AHEM_ , before he could say a certain . . . er . . . use a certain terminology for a certain sport, the aforementioned plethora of nations seethed, "It's. Called. _FOOTBALL_."

"Uh, no way, bros," said America, somehow managing to remain entirely oblivious to the aura of impending doom surrounding him. "Apparently, football's too awesome to be part of the Olympics. I mean, there's rugby, I think—am I leading in that, too?—but still—"

At this, the nations suddenly dogpiled on top of him, trying to whack at America with frying pans, beer bottles, various different types of sports gear, and—Oh, was that a Magic Metal Pipe of Pain flashing?

". . . Well, it would totally ruin my hair if I went, of course," France said, watching from the sidelines as the mob tried to pummel the unsuspecting nation, "but shouldn't one of you be helping him out about now?"

"Don't worry, we're fine," Norway assured him flatly, having returned to strangling Denmark. France didn't seem so convinced.

Canada grinned. "He'll get out eventually. Maybe."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #8: A Fangirl may cut off their sentence in order to point out a—Whoa, is that an A/N over there?**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Reviewer GuardianGirl24 requested for Canada to beat America in a hockey game. The twist? Well, Prussia _DID_ start a TV show for a reason . . . probably. ^J^**

 **As for the sports America's currently leading in in the Olympics, according to Wikipedia, they are athletics, swimming, shooting, diving, boxing, basketball, tennis, figure skating, snowboarding, freestyle skiing, beach volleyball, football (aka "soccer", not the American type of football), skeleton, golf, and rugby. The USA also has the most gold, silver, and bronze medals (totaling up to the most medals) overall; 1073 gold, 860 silver, and 751 bronze. The USSR, which has the second-most medals overall, has 473 gold, 376 silver, and 355 bronze; that's less than half of America's medals. However, I'm not entirely sure whether or not these numbers are accurate (for a change, I used a site other than Wikipedia for these stats).**

 **"Miracle on Ice": This term refers to a men's ice hockey match in the 1980 Winter Olympics at Lake Placid, New York (so, that would be in the USA) in which the United States national team famously beat the Soviet Union national team and went on to win the tournament undefeated. The United States national team's gold medal ended the gold medal streak the Soviet Union national team had had in ice hockey for the past four Games. (Also, the 1980 Winter Olympics apparently included Canada for the first time since 1968.)**

 **. . . Ironically, though I personally don't know much about sports, the two previous paragraphs turned out abnormally long . . . _AND DESCRIBE SPORTS_. Ha!**

 **Japan: "Moving along."**

 **"Prime": This term refers to "Amazon Prime", Amazon being a site for online shopping (not referring to the Amazon rainforest in this case). "Prime" items on Amazon are generally shipped faster . . . something like that.**

 **Hmm, well, I'm not sure what else to put in here, so I'll just put down the hint, I suppose! The next chapter should fulfill the other part of Guest reviewer Mavis's request from _America's What?_**

 **Britain: *sighs* "Good thing you're no longer doing book quotes relating to sparkly vampires."**

 **Me: "Wait, how do you know they're sparkly?"**

 **Britain: "J-just get on with it! But it _isn't_ a quote from a vampire-romance novel again, correct?"**

 **Me: "Nope—this time, it's an allusion to the translated lyrics of a certain Hatafutte Parade!"**

 **Britain: "Bloody hell!"**

 **Hint: He holds two continents in his hands. Oh, and his neighbor? He's a jackass—his words, not mine. ^J^**

 **Prussia: "Kesesese, stay awesome!"**


	9. Turkey, Greece, and Cyprus Walked in—

**A/N: This fulfills a request left on _America's What?_ a while ago (aka it's _REALLY_ overdue); it took me a while to write because I'm not very familiar with some of the characters in it, but I think I'm fairly satisfied with how it turned out. ^J^**

 **And in response to reviewer Sakura-Hime 12345 . . . what is this "Cana"-something you speak of?**

 **Guy-Who's-Totally-America's-Clone: "My name is _Canada_ and I'm right here, you know! Such hosers . . ."**

 **Notes are at the bottom. ^J^ Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Turkey, Greece, and Cyprus Walked into a Bar: Requested by Guest reviewer Mavis**

* * *

"Uh, guys, I think you're _really_ drunk," Cyprus sweatdropped, warily eyeing his two companions, Turkey and Greece, as they hopped on top of the table and started to loudly sing different versions of "Hatafutte Parade". At this, he yelped in surprise, "Like, really, _really_ drunk."

"That sounds, like, totally accurate, huh, Liet?" Poland asked, nudging his own aforementioned companion.

"Yes, but you said we were going shoe shopping," Lithuania said politely. Gaining a sweatdrop of his own as the background music increased in volume and the nations on the table started to play the air guitar, he added, "I think this is a bar . . ."

"You're totally right. Like, those fabulous heels I saw totally aren't going to, like, wait for anyone, so we better get going," Poland nodded sagely. Grabbing Lithuania by the arm, he started dragging them out the door, "Bye, Cyprus! It was totally fun, like, seeing you again. You totally have to send us some pics—that karaoke is, like, totally fabulous!"

"This isn't even a karaoke bar," Cyprus sighed to himself as he waved goodbye. "Seriously, where is that background music coming from? Oh, well at least it's almost over . . ."

"Thank you, thank you!" Greece shouted, bowing to the small crowd that had gathered to watch. The alcohol seemed to have made him uncharacteristically loudmouthed. Pointing to Turkey, he declared, "When that guy conquers the world, I will sweep in with my brutally fluffy cat army and reconquer it just for you all so that cats may reign supreme!"

Cyprus facepalmed as the cat people in the crowd cheered in agreement.

"As if you'd be able to defeat the Ottoman Empire and my amazing mask-powers," Turkey retorted. He paused, then nodded to himself. "Yeah, my mask-powers are totally amazing and you're definitely jealous of them, I say!"

"Hmm, am I?" Greece thought for a moment. "Yes, I think I am. But if you will not join my even more amazing cat army and shout 'for Sparta' as your battle cry, then I will have no choice but to abandon you on a hillside away from any tourist groups and bid you farewell, leaving you to search for an airport by yourself as I lead my—again, amazing—cat army to victory; we shall return with our shields or on them, because we are just _that_ amazing and hardcore."

"Whoa there, I think that might be overreacting," Turkey hastily intervened, apparently still possessing some sensibility despite being clearly drunk.

" _Thank you_!" Cyprus sighed in relief. "At least you seem to be alright despite having been, you know, drunkenly shouting lyrics across the bar several seconds ago."

And suddenly, it became apparent that a bull was ramming through the wall nearby, which was obviously not alarming in the slightest because the bull was very nice and—Screw it, despite however nice the bull may be, the sight of a large mammal breaking down a wall that was for some reason apparently constructed out of cinder blocks or something judging by the massive noise it made when it hit the ground was very, _VERY_ alarming.

"DID SOMEONE SAY—"

"Prussia, I'm going to tell you this very calmly," Britain interrupted, pausing to clear his throat. " _NO ONE said the bloody words_ 'hardcore party', _you bloody IDIOT, and it was COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY to drag ME here with the rest of you wankers_."

"Yeah, yeah," Prussia ignored Britain's statement, to said nation's fury. Turning to point to Turkey and Greece, he continued, "So anyway, the two of you are totally drunk right now, which is awesome."

"And you," Denmark beamed, "clearly don't want anything to do with this situation."

"As it always is with triangles of l'amour," France tacked onto the end, to which Turkey and Greece protested vehemently in the background. However, because they were drunk, these protests somehow managed to incorporate the words "cats", "Sparta", "way amazinger", "jackass", "Ottoman Empire", " _YOU HEARD ME_! Now somebody better get me another drink or cop cats are going to roll" and "Oh yeah, I still have to show you that. _So cute_ . . ."

But of course, about half of these words could've likely shown up in a sober conversation between them as well—specifically the word "jackass"; somewhat surprisingly or unsurprisingly, conversations between Turkey and Greece often involved less felines and more verbal battles. Especially the drunken ones.

"So, there is only one thing left to do," Spain nodded sagely.

"Yeah—let's put 'em on TV, bros!" America fist-pumped, inciting a chorus of agreement from his fellow members of the Awesome Trio.

"I was going to say 'wait until their massive hangovers catch up to them', but I suppose that works too," Spain sweatdropped, but started to follow them outside anyhow. France pouted in the background as the Awesome Trio was already in the process of dragging a heavily-resisting Britain, a mildly-confused Cyprus, and the still-obviously-drunk Turkey and Greece—who had at this point returned to expressing their amazingness through the use of song—out the door.

"Does this mean there's no time for wine?" he asked, gazing longingly at the bar. Then his eyes suddenly brightened as France was struck by a thought. "Who am I kidding, mon ami? There's _always_ time for wine!"

"Get out here already, you bloody frog!" Britain shouted furiously from outside. "If I'm getting pulled into this, I'm not suffering alone you bloody wanker!"

". . . Right after we get through hosting the show and I beat up Angleterre for making me wait to drink," France sighed, stowing away the bottle with great reluctance. When he could've sworn that even the bottle gave him a skeptical look at that last part, he asked, "What? There's no rule against me simultaneously beating him up _and_ keeping my hair totally se—"

"Are you coming or what, mi amigo?" Spain called from the doorway.

* * *

"Welcome back for episode three of _Become One, Da?_ , you wankers—and you better be bloody satisfied that I said it, you hear me you gits?" Britain seethed into the microphone, an aura of impending doom clearly visible around him.

"Today, we have brought _three_ guests for you all!" Spain thankfully swept in before Britain could launch into yet another tirade.

"But since you've spent the past fifteen minutes listening to this guy over here rant about 'not being able to enjoy a cup of tea without someone bursting through the window' or something like that," said America. He gestured briefly at Britain, whose rage seemed to have been fueled further at the reminder of his interrupted teatime, if the number of swear words he was spewing in the background was used to gauge his fury by, "We'll give you the abbreviated versions of their synopses, dudes."

And suddenly, Britain paused in shock. "How do you know the word ' _synopses_ '?"

"Two are totally drunk and the third doesn't want anything to do with it," Prussia cackled, gesturing to the wings of the stage with flourish. "Let's give an awesome round of applause for Turkey, Greece, and Cyprus!"

Except no one else came onstage.

Denmark glanced into the wings as well, eyes widening when he saw the noticeable absence of the aforementioned guests. "Hey, where'd they go?"

"Turkey, Greece and Cyprus?" Norway asked as he appeared behind Denmark and yanked on said nation's tie. "They went back to the bar while Britain was still in the middle of his rant. Said something about karaoke."

This caused a collective facepalm and a distinctive ' _kolkolkol_ '-sound to ring throughout the building. Meanwhile, back at the bar . . .

* * *

Poland and Lithuania returned to see Cyprus apparently having resigned himself to his fate of listening to the sound of Drunk Turkey and Drunk Greece singing slurred pop music on loop.

"We, like, finally found those heels I was telling you about," Poland filled him in, plopping the shopping bag on the table as he and Lithuania sat down beside Cyprus.

"Cyprus, are you okay . . . ?" Lithuania asked hesitantly, seeing how said nation was still in the middle of a facepalm.

"Wait, they're, like, totally singing right now," Poland noticed, visibly perking up. "Do you think they, like, have 'Let's Go to the Ma—'"

" _Don't you dare_ ," that clone that apparently prefers to be called "Canada" hissed, suddenly appearing at the table as well. Cyprus leapt up at this sound.

"America! When'd you get here?" he asked.

"I'm not America!" Canada exclaimed, neglecting to mention the fact that he'd been sitting next to Cyprus the whole time.

"Whatever," Poland huffed. Then, after a moment of staring at this so-called "Canada", squealed, "Your hair! It's, like, totally fabulous—can I, like, put some bows in it or something? Like, right now. I'm thinking right here, and here, and here . . . pink would look totally fabulous on you, right Liet?"

As Poland continued to plan out Canada's wardrobe, the nation sweatdropped, letting out an almost-inaudible "Maple leaf . . ."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #9: A Fangirl _always_ brings at least one device that can record audio to a karaoke bar. Even if it isn't actually a real karaoke bar.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Guest reviewer Mavis, who also requested for Hungary and Romania to go on the Jerry Springer show, requested for Turkey and Greece to go on the Jerry Springer show. However, I'm not exactly sure where the karaoke in this chapter came from . . .**

 **Japan: *pops in* "I have been hard at work behind the scenes!"**

 **Prussia: "Ja, filming those freaky and totally unawesome yaoi—"**

 **Hungary: *dark aura* "What was that again?"**

 **Prussia: *hastily backpedaling* "Nothing, the awesome me said nothing totally unawesome at all!"**

 **"Hatafutte Parade": A Hetalia song that has various versions sung by different characters. In a translation of Turkey's version of the song, he says "My neighbor, he's a jackass" as part of the chorus; at the beginning, he also says that he holds Europe and Asia in each of his— _Get your mind out of the gutter_! But yeah, this is what the hint from the previous chapter is referring to. ^J^ You can probably find the translation of the song online.**

 **"Drunk [ _Insert Name Here_ ]": In the TV series _How I Met Your Mother_ , when Ted, the main character, is drunk, he is referred to as "Drunk Ted"; this is a reference to that.**

 **"Karaoke": Drunk Ted was also hung up on the fact that "karaoke" is Japanese for "empty orchestra". (Oh . . . _that's_ why it's in this chapter! Actually, not really—it's just what I figured Drunk Turkey and Drunk Greece would be into. ^J^)**

 **And as for your hint for the next chapter, let's see . . .**

 **Britain: "It better be a bloody straightforward one this time, you twat!"**

 **Me: ". . . Define 'straightforward'."**

 **Britain: "As in not a quote from a bloody vampire novel _or_ a bloody translated song this time!"**

 **Me: "So, would a statement that isn't specifically quoting something or someone else would fit your definition of 'straightforward'?"**

 **Britain: "Well, as long as it's not a quote, I suppose it should be fine . . ."**

 **Me: "Fine, then I'll do a statement—"**

 **Britain: " _YES_!"**

 **Me: "—that's been put through Google Translate."**

 **Britain: "Dammit, you—"**

 **Hint:** **La Magia del Trío y de la Impresionante Trío pueden conseguir un poco molesto después de un rato. . . _MUY_ molesto.**

 **It may not be entirely accurate, but, well, you know . . . ^J^ The next chapter should at least fulfill the requests of reviewer Tail Tie, I think. Until then . . .**

 **Poland: "Stay, like, totally fabulous—like this new pair of heels! Liet?"**

 **Lithuania: *staring at Poland's new outfit* "Just don't question the skirt . . . it's supposed to be there, isn't it? Uh . . ."**


	10. Spain's Dirty, Dirty Mouth

**A/N: Three . . . two . . . one . . . _I'm-sorry-but-here's-your-chapter-and-I-hope-it-isn't-too-late-and-that-you'll-please-forgive-me-I-beg-of-you_! *gasps for breath* OKAY. There are several things that contributed to this chapter being so late, but I didn't expect it to take over a month, and it caught me way off-guard when I realized that so much time had passed . . . *sweatdrop***

 **Man . . . well, this chapter fulfills the request of reviewer Tail Tie, and some of reviewer MehLikey's request with the featuring of a certain trio *hint*hint* but since this aforementioned certain trio will play a larger role in a later chapter that will also hopefully fulfill the request of reviewer Rebecca Frost, I'm not counting MehLikey's request fulfilled just yet. ^J^**

 **Oh yeah, and *cough*SPOILERS*cough* the translation of the hint for this chapter is, as reviewer InsideMyBrain pointed out, "The Magic Trio and the Impressive Trio can get a little annoying after a while . . . _VERY_ annoying." Here, "the Impressive Trio" was what I received putting "the Awesome Trio" through Google Translate . . . there didn't seem to be a direct translation of the word, since "awesome" and "awe-inspiring" both translated through to "impresionante". *sweatdrop***

 **But hey, the wait's been long enough already without an absurdly long A/N at the beginning, so on with the chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Spain's Dirty, Dirty Mouth: Requested by reviewer Tail Tie**

* * *

"Tea. It's always during tea!" Britain fumed as he stood with Monaco and Macau, the Awesome Trio, and the rest of the Magic Trio. Monaco and Macau had first gathered the Awesome Trio before forcefully breaking into the Magic Trio's lair of board games and— _AHEM_ , it was a _coven_ that they totally performed _magic_ in. Totally. Except they'd been in the middle of a tea break when the Awesome Trio decided to launch their grappling hooks through the wall—who shoots grappling hooks through the bloody _wall_?—at Monaco and Macau's demand and therefore Britain—who was already starting to be affected by tea withdrawal—was infuriated. Well, more than usual. "What kind of bloody wankers _are_ you?"

"The awesome kind, kesesese!" Prussia had the audacity to actually _beam_.

"All we said was to help us fetch the Magic Trio," Monaco huffed. "It was utterly unnecessary to decimate the wall in the process."

"Dude, that's _why_ we're awesome," America replied, high-fiving his fellow members of the Awesome Trio as the other nations facepalmed in response. "So, bros, why'd you call us here?"

"You know, since we've been standing here for a while and it's starting to get kind of boring," Denmark pouted. Seeing Monaco's apparently-unamused expression, he hastily added, "Not that it wasn't fun to begin with—we really did thoroughly enjoy breaking into the Magic Trio's lair, since that was _awesome_! Right, Nor— _ACK_! Kay, got it, bro! Won't break in again!"

Norway smiled slightly from where he was choking the other nation with his own tie as his fellow members of the Magic Trio made a mental note to never get on his bad side. " _That_ was for not calling it a 'coven'. As for the act of breaking in . . . we'll be sending you the bill for the wall."

Denmark immediately sweatdropped, seeming to momentarily forget the fact that Norway was _still trying to strangle him_. "No! Anything besides that—we'll call it a 'coven', I swear! I'll even call you 'Big Brother'!"

"Fine, we'll only charge you for _half_ the bill—but only if I never hear you even _offer_ to call me 'Big Brother' ever again," Norway huffed, finally releasing the tie. There was Norway he was letting _Denmark_ , of all nations, address him as "Big Brother"—kind of like how there was Norway he'd let the narrator use his name as a pun if he had his way. But then again, he _has_ _Nor_ way.

"Thanks!" Denmark rasped as he readjusted his tie.

"Anyway, we have gathered you two trios here today in order to host a . . . _competition_ of sorts to see which of you is better capable of . . . well . . ." Monaco fumbled uncharacteristically for her next words, finally seeming to give up and try again, "to see which of you is more _skillful_ at the task we have chosen."

"Great, now could you just tell us what the bloody hell it _is_?" Britain snorted.

Right on cue, Macau entered the room . . . dragging what appeared to be a hooded figure tied to a chair behind him. Not suspicious in the slightest!

"Oh, bloody hell," Britain blanched. "That's a bloody _person_. What kind of wanker goes and _abducts_ someone?"

"Maybe it's not as bad as it looks," Romania suggested.

"Are you kidding?" Britain whirled on his fellow member of the Magic Trio. "The bloke's been tied and _gagged_! Think of the bloody _lawsuits_ that could be filed if he makes it out of this mess. What would that kind of debt call for? Higher taxes?"

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, the Awesome Trio had been launched into a fangirling spree.

No, seriously. They were really fangirling all over the aforementioned what-appeared-to-be-a-hooded-figure-tied-to-a-chair. Like, _really fangirling_.

"He looks like something out of one of those spy-movie interrogations!" Prussia squealed—in a totally awesome manner, of course.

"Dude, are you joking?" America asked, "This totally _is_ one of those spy-movie interrogations, bro! So . . . _awesome_!"

"It's so cool that I barely even remember why my neck still hur— _ACK_!" Denmark cut himself off as Norway yanked down on his tie once again. "Never mind!"

Deciding to move on, Monaco ripped the hood off the aforementioned what-appeared-to-be-a—Screw it, that name's _way_ to long. Totally catchy, of course, but long. "Anyway, I am sure that you are all quite familiar with Spain?"

Apparently, the figure previous addressed with the totally-catchy-but-long name was none other than said nation himself, smiling happily at the eight other nations in the room as if he didn't mind anything about the situation at all. Not even that the ropes were starting to chafe at his wrists or that he was starting to get hungry after the long journey there . . . ha! Nope, not at all!

"You know, suddenly I don't really mind the bloody wanker being tied up in a chair against his will," Britain noted, considerably calmer.

Prussia blinked. "Wow, what sort of kinky are you?"

"Actually, Spain came up with the idea of being tied to the chair," Macau hopped in before Britain could protest. "He thought it would be fun to guess where we were taking him . . . though I'm not quite sure why."

"Are we in El Dorado?" he asked eagerly.

"No," Macau deadpanned.

"A tomato farm?"

"Do you see any growing here?" Macau asked pointedly.

"They could be tomatoes with an _invisibility_ charm," Spain replied cheerily. Then he paused to consider his next guess. "Hmm . . . are we in a city full of casinos?"

"No."

As the questioning continued in the background—"Are we in a ketchup factory?" " _I said no tomatoes_!" "Lo siento, I didn't mean to get you all angry, senor! Maybe you'd like a cheer-up charm?"—Monaco pulled the Magic Trio and the Awesome Trio to the other side of the room, whispering hurriedly, "I don't have much time to say this, but Macau and I made another bet that involves all of you."

"We figured that much," Romania nodded, "but you still haven't told us what it is."

"Oui. Well . . ." Monaco hesitated. Then, steeling herself, blurted, " _We-made-a-bet-on-which-of-you-could-get-Spain-to-say-a-dirty-word-first_."

"You did _WHAT_?"

"Keep it down, he might hear!" Monaco hastily shushed them—"Are we backstage of _Become One, Da_?" "Nope." "Ay, ay, ay . . . can you give me a hint?" "Well, you already know there are no tomatoes." "Si, sadly . . ."—before adding, "Macau thinks it'll be the Magic Trio, but my bet is on the Awesome Trio."

"Hold up, why are you betting on _those_ three wankers?"

Monaco grinned deviously. "Remind me what my official language is, eh?"

Britain facepalmed. ". . . That blasted frog. Still, why would we agree to this?"

"Whichever side succeeds will win _this_ ," she replied, taking out a piece of paper and scribbling down a number on it. The nations' eyes widened at the amount, mouths dropping open in shock.

America, meanwhile, frowned, "Dude, why's that 'C' have two lines through it?"

"It's the bloody _euro_ symbol, you twat!" Britain snapped. America started to speak again, but was cut off, "Yes, it's money, and yes, it's a lot."

"Fine, then, if you're going to take the fun out of guessing," America pouted.

"Alright then," Romania said, turning to Monaco. "Well, I see no harm in trying, Money—I mean, _Monaco_! So, what do you say?"

In the background, Spain obliviously continued to guess, "Oh! Maybe it's not a tomato farm, but a _different_ type of farm!"

"There are four walls and a ceiling, so I'm pretty sure we're indoors."

"But a farm has many parts!"

* * *

Several minutes later, both the Awesome Trio and the Magic Trio were lying on the ground groaning out of sheer frustration.

"How has the dude _not_ said something dirty yet?" America complained, "Even 'Sofa King' didn't work on him . . . the guy must totally be a tank or something, bro!"

"If all else fails, maybe we could ask about his vital regions," Norway suggested.

"All else _has_ failed," Britain reminded him, "So you might as well go for it now."

"Nein!" Prussia immediately protested, leaping to his feet. "There's _no way_ the awesome me is going to find out that _another_ one of my awesome friends has been a girl this whole time!"

"I'm sorry, but it has to be done for the greater good," Romania sighed.

"You mean winning part of a money mountain?" Denmark asked.

". . . Yeah," the Magic Trio admitted in unison, with Norway popping up behind him and yanking his tie once more.

"Just go for it, dudes," America urged. "I think I'm totally starting to go through burger withdrawal . . . this sucks, man . . ."

"Trust me, if anyone's going through a bloody withdrawal, it's me," said Britain—at this point, he was considering leaving in the next five minutes with or without the money mountain just so he could have another cup of tea because the idea of doing so sounded increasingly like, well, his cup of tea. "Now, let's just get this over with."

In the background, Prussia plugged his ears and began loudly singing a somewhat off-key "Everything is Awesome, But Not Quite as Awesome as the Awesome Me"—precautionary measures, of course. As awesome as Spain was, Prussia didn't want yet another traumatic experience finding out that one of his dude friends was actually a chick the whole time, and not even the soft yellow kind that sometimes flew around his head and sat in his hair and on his shoulder—kind of like a parrot, but way awesomer, of course.

"Spain," Romania began, walking up to said nation. "You're a guy, right?"

"Si," Spain beamed.

"What a relief," Prussia sighed, unplugging his ears. When the others cast him several pointed looks, he shrugged, "Hey, I'm too awesome _not_ to know what you're saying no matter how hard you try."

". . . Okay then," said Romania, deciding to move things along. Turning back to Spain, he continued, "So, since you're a guy, you have a . . . you know . . . that thing . . . right?"

Spain stared at him in puzzlement. After a moment, though, his eyes dawned with realization.

"Oh, you mean _that_ thing," he nodded solemnly. "Si, I have it indeed. It's _huge_ , too."

" _See_?" asked Macau, nudging his companion. "It appears that the Magic Trio might win after all. I really hope that you aren't too—"

"How big is it, exactly?" Monaco interrupted, sounding a little too eager than what would have been considered appropriate.

"It appears that the bloody frog has influenced you in more than one way," Britain muttered.

"Hmm . . . I don't know," Spain admitted thoughtfully. "I guess I've never really measured it. I could take you there now, but, well . . . I can only let guys in."

"How _many_ guys would that be, then?" Monaco immediately asked in return, not deterred in the slightest. If anything, she seemed even more excited. Scary.

Deciding to ignore Monaco's questions, Norway turned to Spain and sighed, "Just say the word already so we can go."

"What word?" he blinked.

"The word for that totally huge place that you have where there are no girls allowed, bro," America answered, nodding his head reverently.

"Ah, so you mean the man cave!" Spain grinned.

The Magic Trio and Macau facepalmed in admirable unison.

"Ja," Prussia agreed as Spain and the Awesome Trio high-fived. "That place is awesome, kesesese!"

"So, is it your turn to try?" Macau asked, turning to the Awesome Trio.

"Nah, we've all given up at this point," Denmark informed him chirpily.

" _What_? You can't do that!" Monaco and Macau exclaimed. "One of us has to win!"

"That's between the two of you," Romania said pointedly, already walking out the door with the others. "As for us, we're starting to get hungry, so we'll be going about now."

After the two trios left the room—the Magic Trio via door and the Awesome Trio via grappling hook, leaving a gaping hole in the ceiling—Monaco and Macau simply stared at each other. "So . . . who gets the money?"

Right on cue, there was a loud honk, causing the duo to leap back in surprise. And suddenly, a goose fell from the sky and landed on top of Spain's head . . . . No, not really.

But a car _did_ break through the wall, and _that_ definitely hadn't been there before.

"Spain, you jerk bastard!" Romano shouted as he stomped out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

He'd woken up to find his damn brother sleeping naked—he always slept like that; what kind of damn grudge did he have with clothes, anyway, eh?—in bed next to him; upon waking up, his brother had immediately sprung out of the bed and went running for the potato bastard with a shout of "Ve, fratello looks angry! Terrifying!"—Romano needed his beauty sleep, dammit!—but had left so quickly that the blanket was still over his shoulders, leaving Romano to be awake and feeling damn cold. So he did the most logical thing he could think of.

He stole a car and went looking for the tomato bastard. But the thing was, the car he stole didn't belong to Spain . . .

* * *

Somewhere far, far away, France had set down his newspaper and was staring at Britain in surprise. "Angleterre, how'd you get here so fast? I thought Monaco said she planned on kidna—Er, keeping you _occupied_ for a while."

"She did," Britain deadpanned, picking up the cup of tea he had left behind, "but thankfully, I was able to return fairly quickly with the help of some of my magical friends."

"Fine, if you're not in the mood for telling me the truth," France pouted. Before Britain could protest that his friends were indeed real, he casually resumed reading and asked offhandedly, "By the way, did you see my car on the way in? I could have sworn that I parked it right outside . . ."

Sounding forebodingly tranquil, Britain confirmed, "Well, I happen to have a rather good idea of where it is."

France looked at him suspiciously. "You didn't _steal_ it, did you?"

"No," Britain scoffed, taking another long sip of tea. Finding this answer an adequate one, France reached over to take sip at a drink of his own. ". . . But Romano did."

And so France wound up spending the rest of the afternoon wiping the remnants of his spit take off of the furniture of an especially-furious Britain. (" _Coffee_! If it was _tea_ , I would understand. If it was _water_ , I would be more tolerable. If it was _alcohol_ , I would . . . well, I would probably kick you out in every sense of the word, frog. But bloody _coffee_?")

* * *

". . . Isn't that France's car?" Monaco raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but let's not get damn technical with it, okay?" Romano glared. Proceeding to gesture wildly at Spain—"Hey look, guys, it's Romano! Oh, and there's a car through the wall. Huh. You remembered to buckle your seatbelt this time, didn't you? You did? You did! Ah, that's so wonderful!"—Romano ignored his oblivious smiling and demanded, "Now what crapola are you trying to pull here with the damn tomato bastard?"

Monaco and Macau glanced at each other nervously. "Well . . ."

"Well, what?" Romano asked impatiently.

Looking over her shoulder first to make sure that Spain wouldn't hear them—"Actually, that car's starting to look strangely familiar . . ."—Monaco quickly informed Romano about the bet, ending with ". . . and they left right before you . . . uh . . . drove through the wall."

". . . That's _it_?" Romano blinked. Monaco and Macau stared at him in surprise as he continued, "And the first person to succeed gets part of your damn hoard?"

"Yes, but the task seems to be more difficult than expected," Macau confirmed.

Romano simply scoffed and called out, "Spain, you bastard, what are some of my favorite words to use?"

"That's easy!" Spain beamed. "There's—"

The following list has been omitted for predictable reasons, but suffice to say that it left Monaco and Macau effectively gobsmacked and possibly traumatized. Romano, on the other hand, smugly strode out of the room with both the tomato bastard and a money mountain of his own in tow.

". . . Let's agree to never speak of this again."

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #10: A Fangirl will never say "never speak of this again" and simply forget about the matter at hand when said matter is in any way related to their fandom(s), regardless of how strong or how vague such relations may be.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Reviewer Tail Tie requested two things, the first being the Magic Trio versus the Awesome Trio, but since I found out that I don't seem to be able to write rap battle scenes very well . . . I used the next-best nerve-wracking sort of competition I could think of—trying to make Spain say dirty words. As in swear words, not the . . . er . . . yeah. *sweatdrop* As for the other request, it turns out that that hasn't been fulfilled in this chapter, so that'll probably be in the next chapter.**

 **As for what exactly will be inside the next several chapters, I haven't figured that out entirely yet, but as I already said, Chapter 11 will hopefully fulfill the other part of reviewer Tail Tie's request, and Chapter 12 will hopefully fulfill the requests of reviewer Rebecca Frost and reviewer MehLikey. ^J^**

 **Let's see, I have to go somewhere soon, so I better finish this quickly. On with the not-quite-definitions!**

 **"El Dorado": Referred to a Native American chief who covered himself with gold dust and ritualistically leapt into a lake, then a city, then a kingdom, then the supposed empire of this aforementioned king, according to Wikipedia.** **The Spanish phrase "El Dorado" translates to "The Golden One" in English. "El Dorado" is also in the notes of Chapter 27, "America's Vegas 2.0: Part 1", of _America's WHAT?_ , and has a more detailed sort-of-definition-thing-y there, though you can also search it up online if you want to look further into it. ^J^**

 **"Sofa King": Verbally, it may be pronounced to sound like a certain cuss with the word "so" tacked to the beginning.**

 **"There's _no way_ the awesome me is going to find out that _another_ one of my awesome friends has been a girl this whole time!": Prussia and Hungary, canon reference (Hetalia: World Series). Not quite sure which season, but if you've seen it, then you probably know what I'm talking about. If not, there's still the Wiki page for Prussia and Hungary that can be referred to, I think. ^J^ As for what you should probably expect for the next chapter . . .**

 **Hint: It involves two very observant groups and someone whose amazing-ness has graced this very chapter.**

 **Prussia: *snorts* "Yeah, yeah. 'Amazing' is okay and all that, but what about ' _awesome_ '?"**

 **Me: "It's not referring t—"**

 **Germany: " _NEIN_! No spoilers!"**

 **Prussia: *cackles* "Stay awesome!"**


	11. Romano Just HAD to Get a Money Mountain

**A/N: Well, maybe I'll just skip to the warning for this chapter.**

 **Warning: LONG. Not the warning, I mean. The chapter. It's LONG. Oh, and the notes at the bottom will probably be longer than this A/N (and possibly contain spoilers for this chapter if you decide to read it before reading the chapter) because I want to get right to the chapter! (Okay, so maybe this warning IS a bit LONG, too . . . and repeat the word "chapter" a lot. The warning, I mean. Not the chapter.) ^J^ This chapter may also be a bit more explicit, since it's Romano-centric and relates to the events in the previous chapter, "Spain's Dirty, Dirty Mouth" (Chapter 10) . . . . Oh yeah, and ship tease ahead!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.**

* * *

 **Romano Just HAD to Get a Money Mountain: Requested by reviewer Tail Tie**

* * *

Macau slid open the door only to do a double take upon seeing what was behind it. Glancing back at Monaco hesitantly, he asked, "Not to be rude, but are you sure this is the right place?"

"You live closer to him than I do," Monaco pointed out as she strode past him, "so you already know the answer to that, oui?"

"Yes, but . . ." Macau continued to stand in the doorway, eyes darting back and forth anxiously. "It's a lot darker than I remember . . . and creepier . . ."

"If you're suggesting that we head north to find Russia for help instead, it's a bit too late for that, eh?" Monaco reminded him. "Besides, we already made the plans to meet with him, so we better follow through."

"Fine," Macau sighed, obediently following his companion inside. "But I still think it's kind of suspicious that all the shutters are drawn and that there's a really foreboding whirring noise coming from somewhere in the room and that the only light looks kind of eerie and blue-y and is coming from those big, scary-looking screens over there and that there's the creepy silhouette of a really tall-looking chair blocking some of it and I think I smell seafood or something and . . . wait . . . are those actually multiple flat screen TVs?"

"They are indeed," a voice that definitely wasn't Monaco's replied. The chair abruptly swiveled around, the blue light from the screens making the seated nation's hair appear to be almost glowing in the dark. "It comes in handy when we would like to view more . . . _detailed_ visuals with our projects."

"What sort of projects?" Macau asked amiably enough, though he already had a suspicion of what the answer would be.

"Why, acts of l'amour, of course," a different voice answered as someone else entered the room, shutting the door behind him. "But whatever business we're about to discuss, I'm sure we'll be able to do it just fine, ohonhonh— _Ow_! Mon dieu, I swear I wasn't thinking about anything dirty that time!"

"Of course not," a female voice that also definitely did not belong to Monaco chirped in response. There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a recently-used frying pan being polished. "Now, now that we're all here, let's get down to busine— _Just because I'm cleaning it doesn't mean I won't still use it to knock your head out of the gutter if I have to_! Oh, right, the meeting. Where was I again? Ah, yes, business . . ."

* * *

Romano started his damn day by literally waking up on the wrong side of the bed. He rolled over with a yawn peacefully enough—

—only to fall off the side and land on the floor with a thud, dragging half the covers with him as he spluttered, "The _one_ time my damn brother doesn't decide to sneak in while I'm asleep! And this floor is cold, dammit! You bastard piece of furniture . . ."

Still grumbling, he unceremoniously threw the covers back onto the bed and made his way into the kitchen—"And who the hell doesn't at least wear some damn _underwear_ when he sleeps anyway, eh?"—fully prepared to slam the refrigerator door into the wall to vent some of his anger and annoyance. And he did, yanking out a bottle of Tokaji wine that he'd had stored inside for . . . well, he forgot exactly how long, but he was pretty sure that he hadn't put it in yesterday. But that's beside the point because right then, Romano still felt like venting and came up with two options for doing so—either taking a nice and satisfying sip of that wine . . . or flinging it against the wall and laughing sadistically as it smashed.

Fortunately for his poor, mistreated wall, he decided to go with the first option.

Which meant that when he shoved the refrigerator door closed with more force than necessary and someone that he was fairly certain hadn't been standing there before remarked, "There are better ways to store wine, you know", he was also able to deliver a nice and satisfying spit take in their general direction.

"How the hell did you get into my damn house, you pervert?" Romano exclaimed, ignoring the spit stains that Hungary wiped off with her apron, looking cheery throughout the whole process. "And what kind of crapola are you trying to pull, talking like the wine bastard? _And quit smiling while I'm talking—you're almost as bad as the damn tomato bastard, dammit_!"

 _Click_.

Romano blinked as Hungary's smile widened, squealing in delight at what appeared to be a voice recorder that she held in her hand. "Men, do you hear it? We've done it again—the elusive _Spamano_!"

"Who the fuck are you talking to, you crazy pervert?" Romano demanded.

Hungary waved dismissively as she cupped her other hand around her ear, where she was presumably listening to her fellow conspirators via . . . well, Romano didn't have to know exactly what it was called to know that it was making him feel creeped the hell out. Speaking to . . . well, again, he didn't have to know exactly who they were to know that they were some damn creepy bastards, Hungary assured, "Don't worry, I planted a minimum of four cameras per room inside his house, not to mention all the work we did outside, so you'll be able to both see and hear us from anywhere within a five-mile radius."

"Wait, _what_?" he blanched, choking on his next gulp of Tokaji wine. Glaring at the bottle, he muttered, "Damn it, I'm never going to get a proper drink of this crapola, am I?"

Turning back to him, Hungary simply smiled encouragingly, "Stay positive! After all, you're going on a date today, aren't you?"

"No," Romano deadpanned.

And then the dark aura appeared. Suddenly a lot more threatening, Hungary lowered her voice menacingly, " _It was not a question, comrade_."

* * *

Three overly-attentive hair stylists, two hours, one tailor—who, Romano was loathe to admit, was pretty damn good at his job—and several minutes spent trying to coax Romano into a car—"No, no. There is no way I'm getting into that pink monstrosity, dammit!" "But it would make a monochromatic color scheme with your cheeks!" "No one asked you for your opinion, tailor bastard! And my cheeks are not pink!" "I know; they're red, a darker _shade_ of pink!"—later, the pink car that Romano had grudgingly stepped inside pulled up to a fancy-looking . . . chocolate place. So, Romano did the only reasonable course of action there was.

He quickly looked up the highest chocolate-consuming nations on the internet and panicked. There was the potato bastard; the tea bastard; the _I'll-shoot-you-if-you-fucking-look-at-my-sister-you-damn-bastard_ bastard; the _bleed-your-ears-out-with-hours-upon-hours-of-damn-classical-music-that-nobody-has-time-for_ bastar—Oh wait, wasn't that Hungary's ex-husband? Damn . . .

But before he could protest this aloud, Hungary shoved a bouquet into his hands and hastily instructed "This is for her, not you. Now go out there—er, _in_ there—and get us some shippable material!" as she pushed him through the door.

"What the f—Do you expect me to go on a date and work on commercial relations at the same time, you pervert?" Romano demanded, stumbling into a table. In response to the curious look he received from the customer already seated there, he snapped, "And this is not a date, dammit!"

"Oh, Romano! Is that you?"

He looked up only to see something much more horrible than the potato bastard approaching him. And that something wore a headband and had somehow apparently found a way to order waffles at the chocolate shop.

Belgium. And, at that moment, his worst nightmare.

"You're such a sick bastard, I can't think of a proper adjective for you, dammit!" Romano muttered, thinking that a certain pervert was out of earshot.

"It's been so long!" Belgium squealed, running up to meet him. "Now, what was that other thing you were saying just then? Sorry, but I didn't seem to quite catch it."

"I said that sometimes, I, uh, have trouble thinking of 'proper' as an adjective because it, er . . . it rhymes with 'lawnmower'."

". . . If you say so! So, have you ordered anything yet?"

Somewhere in a bright pink monstrosity parked outside . . .

* * *

"So, are you totally okay with him, like, calling you all those names?" Poland asked curiously. He honestly didn't mean to pry, but Hungary had been innocently smiling for so long that even he could tell that something seemed kind of off with it. "Because the look on your face totally reminds me of Russia right now."

"Oh, don't worry," Hungary assured him, but her smile did not falter in the slightest. "Everything is just wonderful, right Japan?"

Said nation nodded beside her. "Hai. The two of them have seen each other, and should soon be—France-san, what exactly are you doing over there?"

France was currently leaning against one of the machines, uncharacteristically taking large swigs of Tokaji wine. He paused his conversation with the rose he held in one hand to sniff, "I've had some trouble with l'amour and am going through a very dark time, mon ami. Do not question me!" Turning back to the flower, he sighed, "Ah, you're the only one who understands me, aren't you?"

". . . I believe that is an inanimate object," Japan sweatdropped, glancing anxiously between France and the rose he was now muttering incoherently to.

"Well Angleterre believes in unicorns!" France snapped. "That doesn't mean that they're real . . ."

"And I believe that you've, like, totally had too much to drink. Like, seriously," said Poland, taking away both the bottle and the rose in case France decided to resume his one-sided discussion.

"That's no obstacle to us, unless you're worried about getting tearstains inside the van," Hungary informed him—"Mon dieu, I am _not_ crying! I am too physically attractive for that!" "Perhaps, but that does not have anything to do with your ability to produce tears, France-san . . ."—with a smile, which was seriously begin to worry him. "Thanks again for letting us use yours, by the way. Oh, and don't worry about France—he's just disappointed that we rescheduled our Spamano spree so that we could set up a date with Romano and Belgium."

". . . the _Yaoi_ Army! That's l'amour between two boys, yet it _still_ got rescheduled! Pourquoi? I had been looking forward to it all week, and don't even try to deny it! And even though Romano and Belgium are being pushed towards each other today by our powers of l'amour, we _still_ got Spamano on tape, non?" France was totally not sobbing. Emphasis on "totally". "That _has_ to be destiny, right, my floral friend?"

". . . I do not think the mini fridge is a flower, France-san."

Not noticing the weepi— _AHEM_ , Poland totally did not notice the weeping in the background because there was _totally_ none going on back there in the first place as he asked, "Does Belgium know it's a date?"

Hungary's smile darkened as her dark aura returned. "Oh, don't worry about that, either. Everything will work out according to plan. Yes, _according to plan_ . . ."

"Why are you repeating it twice?" Japan wondered, brows furrowed in confusion. Deciding to let it go, he sighed, "Well, if everything goes according to plan, I suppose that she might at some point come to that realization, then."

Poland simply sat there for a moment, staring thoughtfully at Hungary's intimidating look. Then, nodding sagely:

". . . Have you ever, like, considered setting yourself up with Russia?"

"I'll make a note of it. Now, let's continue watching this date, hmm? They appear to be happy enough so far."

* * *

Romano's not-a-damn-date with Belgium was going surprisingly well. They went Dutch—"Oh, don't worry about paying; we can have a Dutch date!" "This is not a damn date!" "Silly, of course that's not a date, it's chocolate! Although they do have similar shapes, I'll give you that, and their colors are about the same shade as well, I suppose . . ." ". . . Let's just pay for the damn food."—when buying their food and Romano found a table far from the windows, figuring that although they had left the five-mile radius of his house, the Yaoi Army may have planted cameras on the streets or be able to see them through the glass. He was right, of course.

. . . But the Yaoi Army had also gained access to the cameras inside the chocolate place too, so that kind of defeated the whole point. Still, he found himself enjoying their conversation as Belgium chatted happily. They actually had a lot in common—he was sitting in a chocolate place, she was sitting in a chocolate place; she liked talking about food, he liked eating food; he didn't consider this a damn date, she didn't know it was supposed to be a date in the first place; she suddenly stopped talking, he hadn't really been talking in the first place because of all the food in his mou—

Wait just a damn second. Why exactly wasn't she talking anymore?

Romano looked up from where he was stuffing his face with sweets to see one particular neutral Alpine country enter the shop and survey the interior . . . only to lock eyes with the female nation sitting next to him and fall into his usual frown, muttering "how fun" to himself in a manner that indicated otherwise. His name?

" _Switzerland_ ," Belgium hissed, her voice uncharacteristically venomous as her eyes narrowed at the newcomer.

"What's with the damn mood swing, eh?" Romano asked, surprised by his companion's sudden change in temperament.

"He's the one that consumes the most chocolate per capita," she said, still eyeing Switzerland warily. Romano blinked.

". . . Okay then?"

"Hungary called me and told me to meet her here. Something about corrupting my little sister," Switzerland explained, his voice deadpan. "I looked around the street but didn't find her, so I thought I'd take a look in here in case she's inside. And if not, I could still harness the powers of chocolate to help me locate Liechtenstein. How fun."

"That woman does seem like a crazy pervert, so that sounds pretty reasonable," Romano nodded in agreement. Seeing Switzerland's dark look, he hastily clarified, "Hungary, not your sister, of course."

"If you want food, you can always come to my place," Belgium offered. "Like waffles!"

"No thanks. I'm already here, anyway."

"Well, what about Belgian chocolate? It's considered some of the best in the world, you know."

"Then it can't be that far from Swiss chocolate, how fun."

"Just because you eat a lot of it doesn't mean it tastes good, Switzie."

By now, Belgium and Switzerland had gained matching dark auras. " _Say that again_?"

"This is like a toned-down version of that time I walked in on that crazy pervert having a conversation with the vampire bastard," Romano muttered to himself, slowly inching towards the door, "and they weren't even talking, just mostly shooting lasers out of their damn eyes or something at each other . . . _I'm not talking about your sister, dammit_!"

"They had a pie chart for it and everything! Isn't that sweet? Like _my_ chocolate?"

"You only won by a slim margin!" Switzerland was nearly shouting now. "It was a damn three percent, okay?"

Meanwhile . . .

* * *

"Mission accomplished!" Macau beamed as he and Monaco entered the van, startling the other nations already inside. Except for France and Poland, since France was obviously still drunk and Poland was trying to deal with it—"Run, Romano, run! Right into the Spamano-filled future that awaits you; there is still time for l'amour yet!" "I totally thought I, like, took that bottle away from you earlier!"—but didn't seem to be having much success. Macau handed over a bulging sack to Hungary. "Now, here's your pay. Fifty percent, as promis—Wait, is France drunk? What did we miss?"

"You remember how you made a deal with us that if we could make Romano leave the house long enough for you to retrieve the money mountain you'd give us half of it?" Japan asked rhetorically. "Well, Hungary planned to set Romano up on a date, of course, but not with Belgium . . ."

" _He was supposed to walk in and capture your attention, not launch into an argument with the woman_!" Hungary was shouting at the screen. Well, the abridged version of what she was shouting at the screen—the unabridged version involved a lot of impressive and uncharacteristic swear words. A lot. "We're the _Yaoi_ Army, dammit!"

"Didn't you, like, totally try setting up Australia and Mon— _HMFLAHRG_ —at some point?"

"Hai, but you didn't have to bite my hand . . ."

"But you totally put it over my mouth while I was talking, which was, like, totally rude, you know," Poland said pointedly. Then, turning to France and Hungary, who were in the middle of a massive sob-fest, he added, "And you two should totally stop crying and help me replace these heels, because you spilled, like, a whole bottle of Tokaji wine on it and now it totally doesn't smell like the color pink anymore."

And with that, Poland flung his hair dramatically over his shoulder, climbed into the driver's seat, and drove them off to the nearest mall.

* * *

 ** _The Fangirl Code_ , #11: If they repeat it twice, emphasize the second time, and have a look similar to what you would expect someone plotting revenge to have on, then there's a good chance that that Fangirl is as serious as an OTP.**

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **So . . . yeah, I'm not really sure about how the chapter ended, but Romano probably won't be so happy when he walks back into his house and discovers tha—**

 **Romano: *voice echoing in the distance* "DAMN YOU CRAZY PERVERT!"**

 **And there it is.**

 **Reviewer Tail Tie requested for a collaboration between the Yaoi Army and the M/M Casino Duo in which they "create some master plan" . . . and so of course it involves a money mountain! *cough* _I-totally-warned-you-there'd-be-spoilers-in-the-notes-here_ *cough***

 **"** **Now go out there—er, _in_ there—and get us some shippable material!": Sadly, not an innuendo. They just happen to be outside and Romano is supposed to go in. But if it _was_ an innuendo . . . *grins deviously***

 **"Belgium. And, at that moment, his worst nightmare.": Considering how Chibi Romano's introduction to Belgium in Hetalia canon went, I'm not sure if she'd be his first pick for a date. Or is he just in denial?**

 **Romano: "I'm not in denial, dammit!"**

 **France: *still drinking* "Oui, now keep running! TO SPAMANO!"**

 **Poland: *swerves van* "Don't make, like, toasts while I'm driving! There's totally no way I'm letting you dump, like, another bottle of wine on these shoes."**

 **"Dutch date": Also known as going Dutch, the Dutch treatment, et cetera, and is when each person pays independently, so it's pretty much every man for himself.**

 **"Silly, of course it's not a date, it's a chocolate!": Belgium says this to Romano to point out that although the chocolate he is holding resembles a certain fruit, it's still chocolate. Or is it?**

 **"It was a damn three percent, okay?": Long story short, I was searching stuff up on the internet for this chapter and found a poll asking if people preferred Swiss chocolate or Belgian chocolate, and the votes were put into a pie chart. Belgium took up 3% more of the pie chart than Switzerland, a pretty narrow margin.**

 **"Didn't you, like, totally try setting up Australia and Mon— _HMFLAHRG_ —at some point?": Here, Poland is referring to the events of "America's Matchmaking Skills", Chapter 11 of _America's What?_ , in which the Yaoi Army—Well, he pretty much summarized it, actually. The "Mon— _HMFLAHRG_ " is the sound of Japan preventing him from finishing the word "Monaco", since Monaco happens to be within earshot. ^J^**

 **The next chapter should fulfill the requests of reviewer Rebecca Frost and reviewer MehLikey. Hopefully, I'll be able to post it before the year ends, and then I'll probably go on hiatus until January.**

 **Britain: "Well, the hint in the previous chapter appeared to be relatively professional, so this time it should probably also be—"**

 **Me: "Oh yeah, and did I mention that this hint will be in the form of a true story?"**

 **Britain: *facepalms* "Should've known there was a catch."**

 **Me: "Fine, fine, I'll keep it short."**

 **Britain: *sarcastic* "How generous."**

 **Me: *smiles innocently* "I know, right?"**

 **Hint: I found this M &M wrapper. So what did I call it? Eminem. Y'know, the rapper. ^J^ Prussia?**

 **Prussia: "Stay awesome!"**


End file.
